1

Chain of DeathCHAIN OF DEATH

As originally published in “The Shadow Magazine,” July 15, 1934

CHAPTER I.

PLANTED DEATH.

MISTY NIGHT HAD SETTLED onManhattan. A chilly drizzle was

creeping in from the bay. The bright lightsof Times Square blinked and blazed in de-fiance of the gathering fog. This districtmaintained its brilliance despite the ele-ments.

A young man, pushing his way throughBroadway throngs, turned suddenly as heneared a subway entrance at the corner ofForty-second Street. He stopped to pur-chase an evening newspaper. His faceshowed keenly in the light. It was a well-featured countenance, with thick, dark eye-brows and a black, pointed mustache as itsmost conspicuous features.

Though his face was a trifle haggard, asthough from overwork, the young manshowed no signs of weariness in his ac-tion. As he stepped away from the newsstand, he headed briskly for the subwayentrance and hurriedly disappeared downthe steps.

A dozen minutes later, the same youngman reappeared from a subway exit in adifferent section of Manhattan. He hadreached the Wall Street area. His footstepsagain were hasty as they carried him

by Maxwell Grant

through a man-made canyon between twotowering buildings.

Blanketing fog had created a strange ef-fect in the lower district of Manhattan. Thechilling drizzle had come in more heavilyfrom the Battery. It was accompanied bylow-hanging clouds that swirled in mist-likefashion about the upper stories of closelypacked skyscrapers.

Towering office buildings rose out ofsight. Like mountains of stone, they thrusttheir shafts into the enshrouding fog.Passers in the street were few. The chasmsbetween the massive monoliths were silentand almost deserted. The business dayended, this district seemed a city of thedead.

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Chain of Death

Straight ahead, at a corner of the narrowstreet, was a tall white building that appearedmagnified by the fog. Light glimmered fromits open doorway. Above, at scattered in-tervals, were the lights of offices, whichmarked the presence of business men whohad remained to work late.

Still higher, from spots where the build-ing itself was invisible in the fog, shimmersof faint light marked other offices that wereoccupied. This was not unusual. The hugeZenith Building, which the young man nowapproached, was one of the best tenantedof skyscrapers. Every night found somelate-stayers in the thousand-odd offices thatwere located within its eight-hundred-footwalls.

THE young man entered the lobby of theZenith Building. The place was scantilylighted. On the left was a desk, where awatchman remained on duty. On the right,beyond, was a row of elevator shafts.

One elevator door was open. It was to-ward this objective that the young man

turned his steps. He was nearly at his goalwhen the stentorian voice of the watch-man stopped him. Turning, with a slight grin,the young man came back to the desk onthe left.

“Forgot all about it, George,” he re-marked, as he picked up a pencil and be-gan to sign the register book. “I was in ahurry. I come in and out so much duringthe day that I never think to register atnight.”

“That’s all right,” growled the watchman.“I’m here to tell people when they forget.”

He watched the young man sign his nameas Howard Norwyn; after that the numberof the office to which he was going-3318.Then Norwyn marked the time of entry as9:15, taking it from a clock above the reg-istration desk.

“Your boss went upstairs fifteen minutesago,” remarked the watchman. “Guessthat’s why you’re in a hurry, eh?”

Norwyn nodded. He had read the nameof his employer, George Hobston, on theregister. He had also noted the time of

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Chain of Death

Hobston’s arrival as nine o’clock.Howard Norwyn hurried to the elevator.

The sleepy operator had no challenge. Theman was standing slouched in the cornerof the car; he took it for granted that anyone who entered had registered. Thechecking of names was the watchman’sjob, not his.

The elevator reached the thirty-thirdfloor. Its lone passenger alighted. HowardNorwyn paced along the gloomy marble

corridor as the elevator doors clanged be-hind him. He reached the door of 3318. Itwas the entrance to a suite. On the glasspanel appeared the legend:

HOBSTON & COMPANYINVESTMENT ADVISORS

GEORGE HOBSTON

PRESIDENT

Norwyn found the door unlocked. He

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Chain of Death

opened it and entered a darkened outeroffice. He seemed a trifle puzzled. Ordi-narily, George Hobston would have kept thisroom illuminated. It was light from an in-ner room that allayedNorwyn’s worries. Hestrode in that direction.

The inner office wasHobston’s own.

Norwyn had an appoint-ment with his employer, sohe naturally supposed thatHobston was awaiting hisarrival. But as he reachedthe door Norwyn pausedupon the threshold. Hestared straight across thedimly lighted inner office.

OPPOSITE was the en-trance to a strong vaultroom where GeorgeHobston kept all moneyand securities. The vaultroom had a massive door ofmetal grillwork; beyond it,the vault itself was set in thewall. This arrangementmade it possible forHobston to guard himselfwhile opening the vault,through the simple expedi-ent of closing the grilleddoor behind him. Yet at thesame time, air was obtain-able through the open metal work.

The grilled door was always kept closed.To-night, it was wide open. A light was

burning in the small vault room. Its raysshowed the vault, also opened wide, withpapers scattered everywhere. The vaultroom, however, was empty!

Howard Norwyn stoodpetrified. Robbery was evi-dent; still, there was no signof the thief. In wild alarm,Norwyn thought of his em-ployer. Where was GeorgeHobston? Spontaneously,Norwyn looked about thegloomy office. His eyes fellon a figure that wasslouched in a desk chair.It was George Hobston.

The president of the invest-ment company was dead.His body was crumpled for-ward, almost as if some onehad placed it there. Onemotionless hand lay besidea telephone on the desk. AsHoward Norwyn’s bulgingeyes stared back and forth,they saw that GeorgeHobston’s back was on astraight line with the opendoor of the vault room.Mechanically, Howard

Norwyn stepped forward.As he did, he sensed asound from in back of him.He wheeled toward thedoor to the darkened outer

office. A man came springing from thegloom. As Norwyn’s hands came upward,husky fists caught his throat and sent him

A PersonalMessage

From The Shadowto you

The Shadow has a per-sonal message for everyreader of The ShadowMagazine. It is of utmostimportance to all who knowThe Shadow and his work,and it is written in one of TheShadow’s special disap-pearing-ink compounds.

If you want to have thismessage mailed to you,send your name and addressplainly written, to TheShadow, 79 Seventh Av-enue, New York, N.Y., andThe Shadow’s message willcome to you promptly.

NOTE: Members of The Shadow Clubare asked not to send their names, astheir names are already on The Shadow’sfile, and they are always the first toreceive notification from their master,The Shadow.

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Chain of Death

backward to the floor. A short quick pound-ing motion banged Norwyn’s head upon thethick carpet. Groggy, the young mansprawled helpless, with arms outstretched.

Norwyn’s attacker, a thick-set, leeringrogue, arose to survey his work. A pleasedgrin showed on puffy lips. The man hadevidently accomplished what he sought. Hehad stunned Norwyn but had not seriouslyinjured him. Within a few minutes, theyoung man would come back to his senses.

Hoisting Norwyn’s body, the thickset mancarried his burden into the vault room. Therehe propped Norwyn against the wall. Heapplied a handkerchief to the young man’sthroat, to remove the grime of finger prints.From his pocket, he drew a revolver. Hewiped it with the handkerchief and placedit in Norwyn’s right hand. Using the clothas a covering for Norwyn’s fist, the mansqueezed Norwyn’s hand tightly about theweapon.

Stepping back, the evil-faced man deliv-ered another leer. Howard Norwyn wasmoving weakly. His eyes had not yetopened; but it would be minutes only be-fore he regained full consciousness. Withhandkerchief on hand, Norwyn’s attackerclanged the metal door shut. Through thegrill, he could still see Norwyn moving fee-bly.

FOR a moment, the man became cau-tious. He had given Norwyn a loadedweapon; a sudden recovery would enablethe victim to fire from the vault room.Norwyn’s attacker drew a revolver of hisown. He raised the weapon; then lowered

it as he observed Norwyn slouch back intoa stupor.

The villain’s work was done. In the dullgleam of the office, which was lighted onlyby a corner lamp, the thickset man’s pock-ets showed heavy bulges that representedstolen money and securities. The man ap-proached the dead body of GeorgeHobston; he frisked the pockets in a man-ner which showed that he had already gonethrough them, but was merely making surethat his search had been complete.

Placing his handkerchief upon the lefthand of the dead man, the ruffian clampedthe lifeless fingers to the telephone receiver.He used Hobston’s hand to knock it fromthe hook.

With the revolver pointed to the openwindow of the office, the murderer stoodin readiness for clicks through the receiver.His vile face showed its vicious grin. Evilhad gained a triumph.

Murder had been this villain’s first crime.Then had come robbery. The third step inthe sequence was under way. This manwho had slain George Hobston; this crookwho had rifled the investment dealer’s safe,was ready to complete his evening’s work.

Simply, but with craft, he was plantinghis crimes upon Howard Norwyn, theyoung man who was lying helpless behindthe locked bars of the vault room!

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Chain of Death

CHAPTER II.

FROM THE NIGHT.

WHILE GRIM EVENTS WERE tak-ing place on the thirty-third floor, the

lobby of the Zenith Building still maintainedits hollow quiet. Two men came walking infrom the outer door; simultaneously, theclang of metal announced that the elevatorhad reached the ground floor.

Two passengers alighted. Like the twomen who had entered, they went to theregistration desk to sign. The watchmanwas busy, checking the names of two per-sons who had entered and watching thedeparters tabulate the time that they wereleaving.

Other eyes observed the cluster at thetable. These were the eyes of a watcherat the outer door. Standing against the wall,in from the sidewalk, was a tall figure thatwas remarkably inconspicuous.

Dressed in dark suit, this spying visitormight well have materialized from the black-ened fog. He formed a shape that was al-most spectral. Brief minutes had passedsince his arrival here; he moved inwardthrough the door. It became the form of aman whose close-fitting suit was glisteningwith moisture from the drizzle. In his righthand, this arrival carried a black briefcase.

There was something amazing in thestride of this tall personage. Where otherfootsteps had clicked upon the marble floor-ing of the lobby, his paces were swift andnoiseless. Swinging to the right side of thelobby, where the window of a darkened

shop showed black, the intruder was almostinvisible as he headed for the elevator.

The watchman turned to see the two menwho had registered go toward the eleva-tor. Swinging about, he observed the othertwo men making their departure. He misseda glimpse of the extra arrival who stood adozen paces from the elevators.

It was when the watchman turned to-ward the outer door that the tall intrudercame suddenly to life. His quick, noiselesssteps brought him to the elevator; he movedinto the car just as the operator was aboutto close the doors.

The two men who had registered wereengaged in conversation. The operator wassleepy and had no interest in his passen-gers. No question was put to the carrier ofthe briefcase. The operator closed thedoors. The elevator was ready for its up-ward trip.

It was at that moment that the watch-man found another duty. A buzzer had beensounding beside the registration table. Itindicated a call from an office. The watch-man picked up a telephone and growled intoa mouthpiece.

“Hello. . . Hello. . .”The watchman received no reply. In-

stead, he heard a sound that startled him.Over the wire came the report of a revolver.Then a gasp, a gargling, incoherent groan.A voice tried to mouth words. It failed. Thethump of a falling receiver was the finaltoken.

“Hello. . . Hello. . .”The watchman looked at the board. He

saw the number of the office from which

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Chain of Death

the call had come: 3318. He hung up thereceiver and wheeled toward the elevators.The lone night car had started upward. Itsdial showed that it had stopped at the eighthfloor.

The watchman hung up the receiver. Hewaited for breathless seconds. Then heraised the receiver with shaking hand andput in a call to the police. He knew thatcrime had struck within the Zenith Build-ing. He was sounding the alarm.

THE elevator was leaving the eighthfloor. Two passengers had left it-they werethe men who had registered-and only oneremained. The operator looked toward thetall personage who held the briefcase.

“Thirty-five,” announced the passenger.The operator nodded. The car sped up-

ward. It reached the thirty-fifth floor. Thepassenger alighted. The doors closed andthe elevator began its downward trip.

A soft laugh came from the lips of thevisitor who stood in the corridor of thethirty-fifth floor. Long, white hands openedthe briefcase. From it, they drew the foldsof black cloth.

This became a cloak which slipped overshoulders. A slouch hat settled on thevisitor’s head. Black gloves were drawnover white hands. A brace of automaticscame from the brief case and disappearedbeneath the folds of the cloak.

Then the case itself was rolled into smallcompass. It went out of sight beneath thecloak as the tall visitant moved in the di-rection of a stairway. This being who hadpassed the watchman was indeed a crea-

ture of the night.It was The Shadow who was descend-

ing from the thirty-fifth floor of the ZenithBuilding.

Crime had already struck in the ZenithBuilding. No word of its completion couldhave reached The Shadow. Yet he washere, in the building where one man laymurdered and another was held a prisoner,to have crime planted upon him. GeorgeHobston’s suite of offices was on the thirty-third floor. The Shadow had alighted at thethirty-fifth. His course had become a de-scent. He reached the thirty-third floor andthere he stopped.

The corridor was silent. A full four min-utes had elapsed since the watchman in thelobby had received the telephone call from3318. The Shadow had been in the eleva-tor when the watchman had gained word.

An automatic bristled in The Shadow’sfist as the black-garbed visitant stoppedbefore the door of 3318. The free handturned the knob. The Shadow entered thesuite. A tiny flashlight appeared in his lefthand. It sent a shining disk of light aboutthe outer office.

The room was empty. Striding to the in-ner office, The Shadow saw that this dimlylighted room contained but a single occu-pant. That lone man was dead. The bodyof George Hobston lay sprawled where themurderer had left it.

THE SHADOW saw the telephone uponthe desk. The receiver, lying beside the in-strument itself, was proof of what had hap-pened. The Shadow knew that a call had

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Chain of Death

been made below. That call, moreover, hadbeen given during the last four minutes.

Approaching the body, The Shadow de-tected something else. It was the trace ofrevolver smoke; a faint odor of burned pow-der that was most noticeable close to thedesk. The Shadow’s eyes saw the swirlingof heavy fog from the opened window. TheShadow knew the answer.

A shot had been fired close by this desk.Yet, as The Shadow viewed Hobston’sbody, he could tell that the man had beenkilled from a greater range. A soft laughcame from The Shadow’s hidden lips. Itsounded weirdly through this room of death.

Subtle in his conclusions, The Shadowcould see factors that others would notnote. Hobston’s dead left hand wasclamped to the fallen receiver. His righthand, however, was loose as it stretchedtoward the telephone.

An inconsistency that others might pass;yet to The Shadow, it was evidence of whathad actually occurred. Beginning with thescent of powder-an odor that would soonbe disseminated throughout the room-TheShadow had gained a starting point.

A murderer, he knew, had deliberatelygiven an alarm. Why? The answer mustbe here. Already, The Shadow was look-ing toward the spot where it could be found-the grilled door to the lighted vault room.

The Shadow had observed that entrancebefore he had viewed Hobston’s body. Allthe while, he had been sending keen glancestoward the metal door. Howard Norwyn,slumped behind the grillwork, was motion-less. The Shadow had glimpsed the outline

of his body; but had left the inspection ofthe vault room until later.

A sound came upward from the street.It was the whine of a siren. A police carwas arriving through the fog. Again, TheShadow laughed. Like a living phantom, hestrode to the grillwork and worked uponthe automatic lock.

His keen eyes flashed as they surveyedthe form within. Lack of motion by HowardNorwyn had indicated that the young manmight be dead. But as The Shadow worked,Norwyn moved. He blinked. He stared atthe grillwork; he could see the motion ofblackness beyond it.

Then Norwyn realized that he held a re-volver. The fact impressed itself as he wasrising. Thinking that an enemy stood with-out, the young man emitted a hoarse cry,just as the door swung open in TheShadow’s grasp.

Norwyn raised his gun too late. Like aliving avalanche, The Shadow came sweep-ing in upon him. A blackened fist clippedNorwyn’s chin. The young man slumpedto the floor. The revolver clattered fromhis hand.

The Shadow gained the weapon. Heopened the chamber and spied one emptycartridge. A soft laugh came from his lipsas he pocketed the weapon. Standing aboveNorwyn’s slumped form, The Shadowgazed at Hobston’s body.

THE situation was plain. Some one hadmurdered George Hobston. The killer hadthrust Howard Norwyn into the vault room,planting the gun upon him. The grillwork

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Chain of Death

offered numerous loopholes. It would havebeen easy for a man to have killed Hobstonfrom this room.

The false evidence looked plain. Appar-ently Hobston and Norwyn had quarreled.Hobston had managed to lock Norwyn inthe vault room. Then Hobston had put inhis call; Norwyn, coming back to his senses,had shot his employer in the back.

The openings in the grill were too smallto push a revolver through. Hence Norwyncould not have gotten rid of the gun untilreleased. Had the police arrived before TheShadow, they would surely have arrestedHoward Norwyn as the murderer ofGeorge Hobston.

The police! Again, a siren’s whine camecutting up through the foggy night. TheShadow’s laugh was grim. The Shadowcould see the truth of what had happenedhere. He knew that Howard Norwyn musthave been overcome by some swift-actingfoe.

The real murderer was gone. To leavethe wrong man here for the police to quizwould be in keeping with the murderer’sdesire. Too late to apprehend the killer him-self, The Shadow, at least, could balk thecriminal’s schemes.

The Shadow had a double opportunity.First, to release Howard Norwyn from hisdilemma; second, to leave the police look-ing for the murderer. The man who killedGeorge Hobston could not have gone far.Doubtless, he was still in the building; se-cure in the thought that murder would beblamed upon Howard Norwyn. TheShadow saw a way to save an innocent

man from trouble; also to force the policeto the search, which the murderer thoughtwould be delayed.

Turning toward the vault, The Shadowstooped and raised Norwyn’s body over hisshoulder. Carrying the unconscious youngman as a trifling burden, the Shadow strodetoward the outer office.

In his possession, the black-clad investi-gator was carrying the revolver which con-tained the empty cartridge. The Shadowreached the corridor. It was as silent asbefore; yet The Shadow knew that anyminute would bring men of the law into thishallway.

Swiftly, The Shadow gained the stairway.Still carrying his burden, he turned upward.As he did, a shuddering laugh of triumphcame from his lips. Echoes died along thehall. The Shadow was gone; HowardNorwyn with him. Silence reigned for thespace of seven seconds.

Then came the clang of the opening el-evator doors. Three men leaped into thecorridor. Detectives had arrived from head-quarters. They were here to view the sceneof crime. They did not know that a visitorfrom the night had arrived before them.

For The Shadow, swift and decisive, hadleft no trace of his mysterious presence.Yet he had carried away the man on whomcrime had been planted; and with him, theweapon that the murderer had used to de-liver death.

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Chain of Death

CHAPTER III.

THE DEPARTURE.

THE DETECTIVES HAD LEFT thedoor of the elevator open. The opera-

tor, no longer languorous, was lingering inthe corridor until their return. He did nothave long to wait. Two detectives came onthe run from 3318.

“A guy’s been murdered.” one of theminformed. “You’re going to take me downto the lobby, so I can bring up the rest ofthe squad. Say-we’ll have to start a searchof this whole blamed building.”

“You’re right,” returned the other dick.“Have ‘em keep a close watch in the lobbyall the while. There’s no way for the mur-derer to get out of this building except bythe elevators. That’s a cinch.”

“This is the only car that’s running,” re-marked the operator. “The others are alldown in the basement.”

“Good,” commented the detective.While this conversation was under way,

The Shadow had reached the floor above.At a spot directly over the heads of thedetectives and the operator, he had laidHoward Norwyn on the floor. Strong handswere at work on the closed doors of theelevator shaft. With an instrument of steel,pried between the sliding metal barriers,The Shadow released the catch.

The doors opened; peering downward,The Shadow saw the top of the elevator afew feet below. He could hear no sound oftalk; for the elevator was a solid car thatcompletely filled its portion of the shaft.

Easing downward, The Shadow gaineda footing on the top of the elevator. Hisstrong arms stretched forward and drewHoward Norwyn into the shaft. TheShadow rested the young man on the car;his gloved hand eased the doors shut.

In the midst of solid blackness, TheShadow crouched to the top of the eleva-tor and gripped Howard Norwyn in a firmgrasp. The space was ample; so long asThe Shadow held Norwyn on his precari-ous perch, no harm could befall the manwho had been rescued.

Yet The Shadow was not a second toosoon. Hardly had he completed his prepa-ration before the muffled clang of the doorssounded from the thirty-third floor. The el-evator began a record drop on its way tothe ground floor.

The Shadow clutched Howard Norwyntightly during the three-hundred-foot de-scent. His grip was firm as the car cameto a stop at the lobby. Doors clanged again.Footsteps shuffled from the elevator; butvoices could not be heard in the lobby.

THE SHADOW was counting, however,upon another interval. Sliding over the sideof the car, he slipped downward until hisfeet rested upon the top of an elevator thatwas on the basement level. From this ad-joining shaft, The Shadow could just reachNorwyn’s feet. He drew the young mantoward him as Norwyn’s body came limplyfrom above. The Shadow caught it andrested the stupefied man upon the lowerelevator.

Seconds passed; then doors clanged. Awhirr of air as the first elevator sped up-

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Chain of Death

ward. Its shaft was clear. The Shadowedged over the side of the basement el-evator and worked upon the lower doors.They came open. The Shadow dropped tohis objective.

Getting Norwyn through was a more dif-ficult task. The Shadow was standing atthe edge of the shaft which contained theone operating elevator. Below was a pit ofconsiderable depth. The Shadow was equalto the job. He brought Norwyn’s light formover the edge of the elevator, caught theslumping body and swung it to safety. Inthe basement, The Shadow closed the doorsto the shaft.

During the day, the basement of the Ze-nith Building served as a concourse to thesubway. At night, however, heavy doorswere closed at the top of the stairs to thelobby. Hence the basement was deserted;not only that, the police who had arrived inthe building had not started a search in thisdirection.

Howard Norwyn was coming to hissenses. The whizzing trip down through theelevator shaft had produced a reviving ef-fect. But The Shadow gathered him asbefore and carried him along the desertedconcourse.

A turn in the wall brought The Shadowto a heavy barrier. A pair of metal doors,dimly discernible outside the range of thebasement lights, were closed and locked.These, during the day, stayed open againstthe walls. At night, they were shut. A hugebar, dropped from one door into a catch onthe other, added strength to the lock.

The Shadow again rested Howard

Norwyn on the floor. By this time, the youngman was almost entirely conscious. He wasrubbing his chin ruefully, trying to take inhis surroundings. He stared toward TheShadow, who was by the doors, but he couldbarely discern the black-clad shape.

The Shadow was picking the lock. Clicksresponded to his efforts. He forced the bigbar upward and poised it carefully as heopened the door on the right. Turning, TheShadow gazed toward Howard Norwyn.His gleaming eyes saw that the young manwas recovered, but still dizzy. The Shadowstepped beyond the door.

There he dropped coat, hat and gloves.The black garments went into the unfoldedbriefcase. Depositing the bag, The Shadowstepped back through the door and ap-proached Howard Norwyn.

“Come.” The Shadow’s voice was aquiet, commanding tone, different from hissinister whisper. “We must leave. Do notdelay.”

Howard Norwyn nodded. He sensed thatthis was a friend. The Shadow aided himto rise. Norwyn passed through the opendoor. The Shadow drew the barrier slowlyshut; then gave it a quick jerk that causeda slight clang. From inside came the an-swer; the poised bar dropped from the joltand clattered into position. The doors werebarred on the inside as before!

THE SHADOW and Howard Norwynwere in a gloomy underground passage,where the only light came from a hundredfeet ahead. The Shadow paused to workupon the lock that he had opened. With the

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Chain of Death

aid of a special key, he again locked thedoor. Picking up his briefcase, he grippedHoward Norwyn by the arm. Together, theymade their way along the underground pas-sage.

Norwyn blinked as he came into the light.For the first time, he realized where he was.They were entering the subway station, oneblock from the Zenith Building. TheShadow had opened the way between theskyscraper and the station.

Howard Norwyn followed his rescuerthrough the turnstile. A train was cominginto the station; The Shadow urged Norwynaboard. As they stood on the platform ofthe car, Norwyn studied this stranger whohad brought him here.

He did not recognize The Shadow as theone who had encountered him at the doorof the vault room. Nor did Norwyn recallthe strange journey through the elevatorshaft. He remembered, dimly, that he hadfound George Hobston dead. He could rec-ollect an enemy striking him down; then thisfriend who had brought him to the subway.

The face that Norwyn viewed was a sin-gular one. It was a countenance that mighthave been chiseled from stone. Thin lips,inflexible features; these formed themasklike face. Most noticeable, however,were the eyes that burned from the sidesof a hawklike nose.

Those steady optics held HowardNorwyn with their gaze. Dizzy as heclutched the inner door of the speeding sub-way car, Norwyn lost all sense of otherthings about him. The roar of the train pre-cluded speech. The dominating eyes com-

manded trust and obedience.The express came to a stop. A sliding

door moved open; The Shadow’s handcaught Norwyn’s arm. Nodding, the youngman followed his commander to the plat-form. The Shadow headed for an obscureflight of steps. He and Norwyn reachedthe street.

They were at Fourteenth Street. Half ablock from the station. Norwyn’s rescuerstopped beside a limousine. A chauffeurbounded to the street. He opened the door.Norwyn felt a steady hand thrust him intothe car. Then his companion joined him.

“New Jersey, Stanley,” spoke a quietvoice through the speaking tube.

THE car rolled away. Howard Norwynsettled back in the cushions. He began tofeel a sinking sensation. The back of hishead was aching as a reminder of thepounding that it had received from the an-tagonist in Hobston’s office.

“Where-where are we going?” ques-tioned Norwyn, faintly.

“You will learn later.” came the quiet re-ply.

“But-but what has happened to Mr.Hobston?” protested the young man. “Who-who killed him?”

“That we shall discover.”“But I-I should be back there. I-I must

explain to the police. If they-if they-”“If they find you, they will hold you for

murder.”Howard Norwyn clutched at the strap

which hung beside the window of the lim-ousine. He tried to bring himself up from

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Chain of Death

the cushions to stare at the quiet speaker.All he could see was the outline of the otherrider.

The words still rang in Norwyn’s ears.Sickened, the young man dropped back. Herealized the truth of those steady words.He understood what the murderer had in-tended. Much had been stolen fromHobston’s vault. Enough, however, re-mained to incriminate whomever the po-lice might have found in the vault room.

“The revolver!” gasped Norwyn, sud-denly. “I-I had it in my hand. Was it-wasit...”

“It was the gun that killed GeorgeHobston. It was in your possession. I havebrought it with us.”

A sigh of relief came from HowardNorwyn. It was followed by a groan as theyoung man realized that a predicament stillexisted. Norwyn’s aching head rolled backagainst the top of the seat. Dazedly, hismind was yielding to drumming thoughts ofnew danger.

A hand stretched forward. It held a smallvial. As Norwyn grasped the little bottle,he heard the command from beside him:

“Drink.”Norwyn pressed the bottle to his lips. He

swallowed its contents. His head becamelight. The vial slipped from his hands. Swim-ming thoughts faded; under the influenceof the opiate, Howard Norwyn slumpedagainst the cushions and became quiet.

HIS WORRIES were ended for thenight. On the morrow, The Shadow wouldhear his story. The limousine had passed

through the Holland Tunnel. It was head-ing into New Jersey, carrying its pair ofpassengers from Manhattan.

Howard Norwyn was traveling from thescene of crime. His course would not betraced. The Shadow had brought him fromthe spot where he had been left to bear thebrunt of crime. Yet The Shadow knew thatNorwyn’s safety could be no more thantemporary until the real murderer shouldbe uncovered.

A soft laugh came from the darkness ofthe limousine. The whispered mirth of TheShadow faded. The rescue of HowardNorwyn had been effected. Work of moreimportance lay ahead.

That laugh presaged determination. Itwas The Shadow’s challenge to hidden plot-ters who had gained their aim of crime.Against them, The Shadow had scored onepoint: the rescue of the man on whom theyhad sought to shoulder murder.

There was other work to be accom-plished. The murderer of George Hobstonmust be discovered; with him all who hadconcerned themselves with that crime. TheShadow could foresee a mighty task.

Perhaps it was the subtlety of the mur-der itself; perhaps it was quickness withwhich the actual murderer had made hisget-away-either of these points might haveimpressed The Shadow. Whichever thecase, there was something strangely grimabout The Shadow’s laugh.

The master of darkness recognized thathe was dealing with unusual crime. Hecould see that this episode might be but onein a sequence of malignant events. The

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Chain of Death

Shadow knew the need for counterstrokesagainst a hidden menace.

Well did The Shadow divine hidden facts!To-night, he had encountered a phase ofcrime that was merely the surface indica-tion of what lay beneath. The Shadow hadbut reached the threshold beyond which hewas to find insidious evil.

For in his rescue of Howard Norwyn,The Shadow had gained only a first andminor thrust against the most amazing or-ganization of crime workers that he hadever encountered!

CHAPTER IV.

THE POLICE SEARCH.

ONE HOUR HAD PASSED SINCEThe Shadow had carried Howard

Norwyn from the Zenith Building. In thatspace of time, much had taken place withinthe walls of the towering skyscraper. Of-fice 3318 had become the headquarters ofa massed investigation.

Three men were standing by the deskwhere George Hobston’s body lay. One, agrizzled veteran of the police force, wasInspector Timothy Klein. The second wasa police surgeon. The third was a stocky,swarthy man, whose keen dark eyes werewatching the other two as they spoke. Thiswas Detective Joe Cardona, ace sleuth ofthe New York force.

Though Klein was technically in charge,Cardona was the man upon whom the in-vestigation hinged. As a hound upon thetrail of crime, Cardona was conceded to

be the best in Manhattan. He was listeningto the surgeon’s report: the statement thatdeath had been caused by a bullet wound;that the shot had probably been fired froma dozen feet away.

When Klein turned to Cardona, he foundthe detective ready with theories. Joestepped toward the door to the outer of-fice. He pointed toward Hobston’s body.

“A shot would have got him from here,”volunteered the detective. “SupposeHobston came in and sat at his desk. Afellow sneaking in from outside could havepicked him off before he had a chance.”

“That looks likely,” agreed Klein. “Butwhat about-”

“The vault,” interposed Joe. “That’s right.I’m coming to it. Suppose Hobston hadopened the vault. He might have gone backto his desk. The theory still stands.”

“Why would he have left the vault open?”“Only because he suspected no danger.

Because he knew that the only visitorwould be a man whom he could trust. Likethis fellow.”

Cardona produced the registration book.It had been brought up from the lobby. Hepointed to the name of Howard Norwyn.

Klein nodded. “I think you’ve got it, Joe,”he declared. “Norwyn must have come in;seeing the vault open, he took a shot atHobston. He started to rifle the vault; thengot scared and made a get-away.”

THERE was commendation in theinspector’s tone. The detective, however,made no response. Cardona was studyinghis own theory, putting it to a stronger test.

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Chain of Death

At last he came to a point that puzzled him.“The phone call,” he declared. “I can’t

figure it.”“Why not?”“Picture it this way.” Cardona strode to-

ward the open door of the vault room.“Hobston opens the gate. He goes to hisdesk”-Cardona paused while he ap-proached the body in the chair-”and whilehe’s there, Norwyn enters. He sees twothings that interest him.”

Cardona paused emphatically andbacked toward the door to the outer office,to indicate that he was playing the part ofNorwyn from this point on.

“He sees the open gate over there,” re-sumed Cardona, with a gesture, and he seesHobston sitting by the desk. He’s got achance to grab what’s in the vault. All right,inspector. What does he do?”

“He takes a shot at Hobston,” answeredKlein. “Puts a bullet in his back, as yousuggested before.”

“Yeah?” questioned Cardona, wisely.“And after Hobston is shot, he picks up thephone and calls downstairs, where thewatchman hears the shot all over again?”

“I see your point, Joe,” nodded Klein.“Norwyn must have covered Hobston fromwhere you’re standing. He threatened him.Hobston picked up the telephone to call thewatchman. Norwyn fired.”

“Wrong again.” Cardona shook his head.“Norwyn wouldn’t have given him achance to do all that. I’ll tell you whereNorwyn found Hobston, inspector. Hetrapped him at the door of the vault room.”

Keeping the role of Norwyn, Cardona

crept toward the open vault room. He sud-denly made a leap, as for an imaginary an-tagonist. He stopped short and faced Klein.

“That’s what happened,” announced thedetective. “Norwyn didn’t pull a gun. Hetried to knock out Hobston; but his bossmust have handed him a haymaker instead.Then Hobston shoved Norwyn in the vaultroom and went over to make the phonecall.”

Klein was nodding unconsciously as helistened to Cardona’s deduction. The po-lice surgeon was standing attentive. He, too,seemed deeply interested.

“Norwyn woke up,” resumed Cardona.“He was here, in the vault room. He heardHobston trying to make the call. He pulledhis gun-Hobston probably didn’t know hehad one-and either shoved the door openor shot through a hole in the grillwork.Come over here; take a look at the bodyfrom this angle.”

The police surgeon accompanied the in-spector to the door of the vault room. Kleinwas the first to nod as he studied the angle.He looked toward the police surgeon; thephysician added his nod.

“I’ve got a hunch,” decided Cardona,“that Norwyn was behind the door. MaybeHobston jammed it, but didn’t get it locked.The point is that Norwyn was in too muchof a hurry to get away. He didn’t have timeto grab up the swag he wanted.”

“He only had a few minutes,” agreedKlein. “Our men got here mighty quick af-ter the watchman reported the shot. It’s asure bet, Joe, that Norwyn is still here inthe building”

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Chain of Death

“Right,” declared Cardona. “That’s whythere’s no use going into more detail on thisreconstruction. Our job is to find Norwyn.Suppose we go down to the lobby and findout how the search is coming.”

THE three men left the office. A uni-formed policeman was standing in the cor-ridor. Klein ordered him to take charge ofthe body. The inspector led the way to theelevators and rang the bell. The car arrivedand the trio descended.

They were met in the lobby by Detec-tive Sergeant Markham. Klein’s inquiryregarding the search received a negative

response.“They’re reporting in from every floor,”

declared Markham, as he went to answera buzz at the telephone. “Not a ripple.Here’s another report.” He picked up thereceiver and uttered a few short sentences;then hung up and turned to Klein. “Thatwas Grady from the twenty-fourth. Noth-ing doing on that floor.”

“What about the elevators?” demandedCardona.

“Only one operating,” spoke the watch-man, from beside the registration desk.“You know, when I heard that shot and re-ported it, I watched the elevator dials like ahawk. Not a move from any of them-ex-cept the car that was in use.”

“None of these fellows is Norwyn,”stated Markham, pointing toward the endof the lobby.

Cardona turned to see a group of a dozenmen under guard of two policemen. Thewatchman approached the detective inpleading fashion.

“You took the book upstairs, sir,” he re-minded. “It has the names of all thesegentlemen in it. They were in their officeswhen the police entered.”

“Here’s the book,” declared Cardona.“We can check on these men right now.Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen, but there’sbeen a murder in this building. There’s oneman we want to get. His name is HowardNorwyn.”

One by one, Cardona quizzed the men.He made each sign his name; then com-pared the signature with the one that theman had written in the book. He also

HOWARD NORWYN, innocentemployee of George Hobston,who is “framed” in the murderof his chief.

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Chain of Death

checked each name with the watchman.By the time this procedure was finished,

five more men had come down under po-lice guard. Cardona went through the sameformality with them.

“Look at this, inspector!” Cardona’s ex-

clamation was a triumphant one. “We’vechecked on every name except one. That’sHoward Norwyn.”

“But he’s the one you need,” said Klein,glumly.

“Sure,” resumed Cardona, “but if we get

The man-hunt had started promptly afterthe police had discovered GeorgeHobston’s body.

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Chain of Death

anybody now, we’ll have a suspect. Byrights-according to this register book-thereshould only be one man left in the wholeZenith Building. That’s Howard Norwyn.”

“I get it,” nodded Klein. “There might besomebody else here; somebody that sneakedin.”

“Yes.” Cardona turned suddenly as theelevator door clanged open and men ap-peared. A disappointed frown showed onthe detective’s face. The final squad ofsearchers had arrived, without another manwith them.

Reports were checked. The lobbyteemed with foiled searchers. The manhunthad started promptly after the police haddiscovered George Hobston’s body. Out-fitted with pass keys, detectives and offic-ers had gone through the skyscraper fromtop to bottom.

Even the basement was to be searched,according to Klein’s new decision. Thewatchman was positive that Norwyn couldnot have gone there, but the inspector wasdetermined to make this last effort to tracethe one man who had registered and whohad not reappeared.

CONFERRING with Cardona, Klein de-cided not to hold the other occupants ofthe building. None of them had been foundin the vicinity of the thirty-third floor. Allhad legitimate business that had broughtthem to the building. Cardona quizzed eachman closely and checked with the officerswho had taken them into custody. That for-mality ended, the lobby cleared. InspectorKlein and Joe Cardona waited for the small

squad of searchers to return from the base-ment.

While the detective was making anothercheck-up with the watchman, a policemanentered and advanced to Joe Cardona. Thisofficer was one of two who had been sta-tioned outside the building.

“Some news hounds out there,” beganthe blue-coat. “I told em they couldn’t comein. Said you’d see them later”

“That’s right,” growled Cardona. “Letthem wait. The weather’s good for them.”

“But there’s one guy that raised asquawk. Says you’ll want to see him. Hisname’s Burke-he works for the Classic.”

“Burke. eh?” Cardona laughed. “Tell himto come in. I’ll talk to him.”

The officer left. Cardona swung to Kleinand spoke a few words of explanation.

“You know Burke,” said Joe. “He’s allright. We’ve got to let the newspapers havethis story. If Burke acts as spokesman, he’llgive them the right slant. He’ll hand us thecredit that’s our due. None of this stuffabout a futile search by the police.”

As Cardona finished speaking, a youngman appeared from the outer door. Hegrinned as he removed his felt hat andsplashed water from the brim. Clyde Burkewas a typical newspaper man. His mannerwas keen; his expression genial. He waswiry but not husky. His eyes began a promptsurvey of the lobby.

“Hello, Joe,” was his greeting. “Say, havea heart, won’t you? Let the boys in out ofthe rain. They’re sticking around to get thestory and they’re pretty sore because theirpolice cards won’t get them through.”

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Chain of Death

“I’ll let them in pretty soon,” returnedCardona. “They’ll cool off when they getthe story. But I want to talk to you first,Burke.

“Get this straight. In less than ten min-utes after the watchman here heard a shotover the telephone, there were three de-tectives in room 3318, where the shootingtook place. There were five men moredown here in the lobby.

“The murderer had no chance to get out.So far as we know, he’s still in the building.We’re completing the search. We haven’tfound him; but it’s not because of any slip-up on our part.”

“What about those men who filed out ofhere?” questioned Clyde. “Some of theboys were going to duck along after them.I held the fellows though, by promising toget them in to see you.”

“Those men,” explained Cardona, “werebusiness men who were in their offices.We checked them on the register and re-leased them. We have accounted for ev-ery one except the one man we want.

“You give that to the other newspapermen. See that they get off to the right starton the story. Then bring them in and I’llanswer questions.”

“Leave it to me, Joe.”

CLYDE BURKE hurried back to thedoor. Joe Cardona smiled as he turned toTimothy Klein. The searchers were return-ing with the news that the basement wasunoccupied except for the employees in theengine room. Cardona had expected thatreport. His elation was due to the way in

which he had handled Clyde Burke.“A real fellow, that reporter,” declared

Joe. “I’m glad he got this assignment. Morebrains than any other news hound I evermet. Why he sticks to the Classic job ismore than I can figure.”

There was logic in Joe Cardona’s state-ment. There was also an answer to hisspeculation regarding Clyde Burke. It camehalf an hour later, after the reporters hadentered, gained the details of the murderand search, and left for their respectiveoffices.

Clyde Burke, nearing the Classic build-ing, stepped into a cigar store and entereda telephone booth. He called a number andheard a quiet voice respond:

“Burbank speaking.”For the next few minutes Clyde Burke

delivered terse details of the police find-ings at the Zenith Building. These factswere not for the New York Classic.

Clyde Burke was an agent of TheShadow. Through Burbank, The Shadow’scontact man, he was reporting all that hehad learned. His statements would be for-warded as soon as his call was finished.

Thus The Shadow, who had played soimportant a part after the murder of GeorgeHobston, was to learn the vital news thatno killer had been found in the Zenith Build-ing.

The fact that Howard Norwyn was sus-pected and missing was one that TheShadow expected to hear. But The Shadowwas to learn another fact that he would findimportant, namely, that no unregisteredprowler had been found at large.

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Chain of Death

That fact was to play a part in TheShadow’s coming plans. It was to give himthe inkling that the murder of GeorgeHobston had been well planned before-hand. It was to place The Shadow face toface with the truth; that craft had been usedin murder.

The planting of crime on HowardNorwyn had been the first evidence of cun-ning preparation. The disappearance of theactual murderer was even more remark-able. Already, word was on the way thatwould make The Shadow prepare for newand unseen crime!

CHAPTER V.

MURDERERS TALK.

IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK the nextmorning. The Zenith Building’s business

day had begun. The massive skyscraper,glistening like a marble pinnacle in the sun,was thronged with hordes of workers.

Morning newspapers had blared the storyof George Hobston’s murder. To the work-ers in the Zenith Building, the killing in 3318was a subject of intense discussion. Fewof them had ever heard of GeorgeHobston. The dead man’s name was butone of hundreds on the big boards in thelobby. Yet the fact that he had been mur-dered in the Zenith Building was real newsto the working inhabitants of that particu-lar skyscraper.

A portly, gray-haired gentleman heard thetalk of Hobston’s death as he rode up tothe thirtieth floor. Alighting from the eleva-

tor, this man approached an office that borethe name:

CULBERT JOQUILLATTORNEY AT LAW

Entering, he nodded pleasantly to the of-fice force, which consisted of two stenog-raphers and a young man who looked likea recent graduate of law school. He con-tinued through a door marked “Private.”

This man was Culbert Joquill. He was inhis own office. Massive bookcases linedthe walls; from floor to ceiling they were

CULBERT JOQUILL

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Chain of Death

filled with buckram-bound volumes thatpertained to the law. Joquill seated himselfbehind a mahogany desk and stared inbeaming fashion from the window.

A stenographer entered with the mail.Joquill opened letters, read them, and dic-tated replies in the stentorian tone that hemight have saved for addressing a jury. Thisfinished, he arose and walked to the dooras the stenographer went back into thelarger office.

“I do not care to be disturbed for the nexthalf hour,” he announced. “If any clientscall, tell them that they must wait. I am pre-paring an important brief. I shall notify youwhen I have finished.”

To emphasize his statement, CulbertJoquill closed the door of his inner officeand turned the key. Walking back towardthe window, he stopped at a bookcase andremoved two volumes from a lower shelf.Pressing his fingers into a crevice, heclicked a hidden catch.

Stepping back, he drew a section of thebookcase outward on a hinge. The actionrevealed a small room, no more than sixfeet square.

A man was seated on a rumpled couch.He arose with a grin as the bookcaseopened. He stepped into Joquill’s privateoffice. The light from the window showedthe evil leer upon his lips. It marked his faceas that of man who had murdered GeorgeHobston and thrust Howard Norwyn intothe vault room of 3318.

CULBERT JOQUILL closed the book-case. He waved the ugly-faced man to a

chair; then took his own position behind thedesk. He smiled placidly as the man fromthe little room put an eager, whispered ques-tion:

“Did you read the newspapers?”Culbert Joquill nodded.“Did they get him?” The man question.

“Did they get Norwyn? What did he haveto say?”

“They did not get him,” responded Joquill,in a quiet tone. “However, it does not mat-ter. His name is given in the newspapers;he is suspected as the murderer of GeorgeHobston. What is more important-to my-self as well as to you-is the name they didnot mention. The newspapers say nothingregarding Garry Hewes.”

The ugly-lipped man grinned. This state-ment referred to him. He could see apleased look on Joquill’s face. He settledback into the chair.

“Substantially,” declared the lawyer, in asoft tone, “the story is this. George Hobstonentered his office at nine o’clock. At ninefifteen, Howard Norwyn arrived. Appar-ently, Norwyn must have threatenedHobston, who overpowered him, placedhim in the vault room and called the watch-man.

“Norwyn, however, had a gun. He man-aged to shoot Hobston. Then-probably dueto Hobston’s neglect in locking the grilleddoor-Norwyn escaped. The building wassearched. No trace was found of him.”

“The police found the gun?”“No.”“You just mentioned that they said he had

one.”

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Chain of Death

“I was stating the theory as advanced bythe police. The evidence against HowardNorwyn is purely circumstantial. Read thenewspapers after you leave here. Formyour own conclusions.”

Garry Hewes was staring from the win-dow. His face was speculative. CulbertJoquill seemed to be awaiting hishenchman’s reply. Garry spoke in a puzzledtone.

“Here’s what happened Joquill,” hestated. “I stayed here after five o’clockyesterday afternoon. I kept in the hideoutbehind the bookcase. I heard the scrubwomen come in and go out. I waited untilhalf past eight.

“Then I went up to Hobston’s office. Ifound a good place to hide in his outer of-fice. I intended to threaten him; to makehim open the vault before Norwyn arrived.That was where I got a break. Hobstonopened the vault himself. I didn’t lose anytime. I piled in from the outside office andplugged him in the back.

“With Hobston dead, the game was toplant it on Norwyn. So I lugged Hobston tothe desk and fixed him so his back wastoward the vault room. I turned out the lightin the big office. I waited there until Norwynarrived.

“He saw the open vault room. He sawHobston’s body. Then I whacked him.Shoved him in the vault room and put thedeath gun in his mitt. I figured he’d cometo inside of five minutes. So I made a phonycall to the watchman in the lobby. I fired ashot out through the window; made a coupleof gargles; then beat it.

“I left Norwyn to be the goat. I neverthought he’d manage to get out. That lockon the vault-room door must have jammed.Norwyn had sense enough to beat it whenhe came to his senses.

“Anyway, I came back here. I laid in thehide-out; I heard searchers coming throughthis office. I figured that Norwyn musthave been found; that he said the real mur-derer was somewhere in the building. Ithought they were making a search to findout if he was right. Now you tell me that itwas Norwyn they were hunting for.”

“Precisely,” nodded Culbert Joquill. “JoeCardona, the smart detective, fell for youridea. He decided that Hobston overpow-ered Norwyn and shoved him in the vaultroom. Hence, as I remarked before,Norwyn’s successful flight has made hima marked man. No one will believe his storywhen he is captured. He is definitely a fu-gitive.”

“Good,” said Garry, with a grin. Henudged his thumb toward the bookcase.“The swag is back there-all those securi-ties and the cash that Hobston owned forhimself. I left the other stuff- the stocksand bonds marked with the names of cli-ents-in the vault room to make it look badfor Norwyn.”

“Did you get Hobston’s private book?”“I did. Here it is.” Garry produced a

leather-bound pocket memorandum. “Ittallies exactly with the swag. More thanhalf a million total.”

CULBERT JOQUILL took the littlebook and smiled as he thumbed the pages.

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Chain of Death

Finished with his brief inspection, the gray-haired lawyer chuckled.

“This office is very similar to Hobston’s,”he remarked. “Like his suite, this one hasits strong-room.” He pointed toward thebookcase. “However, I found it most suit-able to close off my little alcove.

“Lucky, isn’t it, that the police never sus-pected a space behind that bookcase? Theytook it for granted that this was just an or-dinary law office. Those books, with thethin wood work behind them, form a betterbarrier than the grilled door to Hobston’svault room.”

“I found that out last night,” returnedGarry.

“This office,” remarked Joquill, as anadded thought, “differs in one respect fromHobston’s. It has a door of its own leadingto the hall. That is essential in a lawyer’soffice. It is always poor policy to usher cli-ents out through the anteroom.

“So you, Garry, can leave by my privateexit.” The attorney pointed to a door at thefar end of the room. “You were here yes-terday before the watchman went on duty;you are leaving during business hours to-day. Communicate with me later-about theend of the week.”

Garry Hewes arose. He turned towardthe exit. He took a few paces; then turnedand came back to the desk. He stood therewith a quizzical expression on his face.

“Listen, Joquill,” he stated. “You and Iare in the same boat. You ordered Hobston’sdeath and I went through with it. That wasthe best arrangement, because you and Iare different.

“You’re a big-timer. I’m nothing but anordinary gorilla that you imported from theMiddle West. I’ve got sense enough to stayaway from gangsters here in New Yorkbecause you’ve paid me good money toplay I was respectable.

“You’re smart, Joquill. You moved in herea month ago; you fixed this hideout insimple fashion. But you didn’t pick the Ze-nith Building just for fun. You took it be-cause you were gunning for GeorgeHobston. Am I right?”

“Certainly,” smiled Joquill.“Well,” resumed Garry, with an uneasy

shift, “that’s what bothers me. The hide-out worked; the job’s gone through; butthere’s a couple of points that don’t look sogood.

“How did you find out that Hobston washoarding his securities-that he had a lot ofreal dough stored in his vault with no recordexcept the little book in his pocket?

“How did you arrange it for Hobston tocome to his office last night; and how didyou fix it so that Norwyn would be therefor my frame-up?”

Garry Hewes paused. Culbert Joquillfrowned. His tone was cold as he repliedto his henchman’s questions.

“Those matters,” asserted the old law-yer, “do not concern you, Garry. Forgetthem.”

“I can’t forget them,” pleaded Garry.“They do concern me. I figure you musthave known Hobston personally. What’smore, you must have pulled some gag toget him and Norwyn into the office lastnight. Suppose the police get working right.

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Chain of Death

Suppose this smart dick, Cardona, finds thetrail to you. What then?”

A broad smile appeared on CulbertJoquill’s crafty lips. The lawyer’s frownwas gone. Joquill had taken Garry’s ques-tions as an unwarranted attempt to pry intoaffairs which did not concern him; but thehenchman’s explanation of his qualms werejustification.

“Do not worry,” purred Joquill, in a con-fidential tone. “You have admitted that Iam smart. Take my word for it that thepolice will never trace me. I knew thatGeorge Hobston had that secret wealth inhis vault. I knew that he and HowardNorwyn would be at the office last night.

“Yet I made no effort to trace those facts.To me, George Hobston and HowardNorwyn were nothing more than names.Let us regard the whole matter as one ofcoincidence. Better, let us state that I actedupon sudden inspiration; that the possibili-ties of crime came to me as in a dream.

“I am serious, Garry.” Joquill set his fistupon the desk. “Between those facts andmyself is a breach that can never be leaped.No one will ever know how I came to en-ter into this successful episode of crime.You think of me as a crafty schemer, doyou not? Let me tell you more: I have acertain possession-we might say talisman-that makes my position invulnerable.

“I did not need you for a henchman. Ichose you simply because I knew your past;because I was positive that you were astrong-armed worker upon whom I couldrely. I do not care to play an active part incrime. I have taken you as an instrument

with which to work.“I am the brain, so far as you are con-

cerned. You know that I planned Hobston’sdeath some weeks ago. It occurred on per-fect schedule. Do you think that my planscame to an abrupt ending with last night?”

Rising, Culbert Joquill approached hishenchman. He clapped his hand uponGarry’s shoulder; then drew the ugly-facedkiller toward the door to the hall.

“Forget your worries,” suggested Joquill.“You are safe because my position is se-cure. My part in this entire episode has beenone of complete concealment. I am a rec-ognized attorney; the fact that I have anoffice in the Zenith Building means noth-ing.

“I am but one of hundreds of other ten-ants. So far as Hobston’s death is con-cerned, I am but a chance reader of thenewspaper accounts. You understand?”

Garry Hewes nodded. His qualms wereallayed. Turning, this tool who had per-formed murder stalked, unseen, fromCulbert Joquill’s private exit.

THE old lawyer chuckled as he returnedto his desk. Taking pen and sheet of paper,he inscribed a series of odd-shaped circles.They apparently formed a code:

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Chain of Death

Joquill placed the sheets together; hefolded them and put them in an envelope.From memory, he made duplicates of eachsheet, folded these pairs together and putthem into a second envelope.

The lawyer addressed the envelopes andplaced stamps upon them. Rising, he strolledto the door of the outer office, unlocked it

and walked from his own room. He nod-ded to two clients who were seated on abench and remarked that he would soonbe back to interview them.

Stepping into the corridor, Joquill contin-ued toward the elevators. There, he postedhis letters in the mail chute. Wearing theghost of a smile, the gray-haired attorney

This done, Joquill began another peculiarinscription, formed with a succession of

block-like characters in several lines:

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Chain of Death

came back through the outer office andcontinued into his private room. He presseda buzzer. A stenographer appeared to findhim behind the desk.

“I am ready to see the gentlemen whoare waiting,” declared Joquill, quietly. “Youmay usher them in here.”

With hands folded upon the desk, CulbertJoquill looked the part of a conservativeEnglish barrister. His task of crime hadbeen completed; the mailing of those codednotes had been the aftermath of his talkwith Garry Hewes.

The hide-out closed; its occupant gone;the spoils of George Hobston’s vault stowedsafely from view, Culbert Joquill had noworry. He was resuming the role which hecould play so well because it was his ac-tual capacity: that of a consulting attorney.

Murder remained unavenged; andCulbert Joquill was confident that no inves-tigator in all New York could possibly tracecrime to him.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SHADOW WAITS.

WHILE CULBERT JOQUILL andGarry Hewes were discussing their

successful crime, the murder of GeorgeHobston was receiving close attention else-where. A tall, calm-faced personage wasseated in a bizarre room, reading the com-plete accounts in the morning newspapers.

He was the same hawk-faced strangerwho had rescued Howard Norwyn on theprevious night. His chiseled countenance

was steady, even when relaxed. His eyesseemed burning as they scanned the head-lines.

The room in which this personage dweltat present was remarkable to the extreme.Its walls were furnished with a remarkableassortment of curios.

Tapestries, adorned with golden dragons;a huge Malay kris suspended from the ceil-ing like the sword of Damocles; a portionof an Alaskan totem pole; a mummy casestanding in a corner-these were but a fewof the articles that made the place look likea museum.

The hawkish face turned toward the dooras a knock sounded. Thin lips gave the or-der to enter. A servant appeared and bowedfrom the doorway.

“What is it, Richards?” questioned theoccupant of the curio room.

“Your guest is awake, sir,” replied themenial. “I have served his breakfast. He isfinished.”

“And now he wishes to speak with me.”“Yes, sir.”“Usher him to this room.”Richards departed. He returned a few

minutes later with Howard Norwyn. Theyoung man was attired in a dressing gownthat Richards had evidently provided.Norwyn blinked at sight of the odd curioroom. He stared toward the seated figure;in response to a gesture from his host, heentered and seated himself on a cushionedtaboret. Richards departed.

HOWARD NORWYN recognized hishost as the person who had conducted him

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Chain of Death

to the subway. Yet the young man seemedbewildered. He had slept steadily and hadnot awakened until late in the morning. Theeffect of The Shadow’s opiate had causedprolonged slumber.

“I presume,” came the tones of a quietvoice, “that you are somewhat befuddledregarding your surroundings. Perhaps youare a bit uncertain as to the circumstanceswhich resulted in your arrival here.”

“I am,” admitted Norwyn. “It seems asthough I have had a nightmare; yet eventswere too realistic to have been false. I knowthat my employer-George Hobston-wasmurdered. I realize that I was in a predica-ment from which you rescued me. But-but...”

“But you do not know where you are.”Thin lips formed a slight smile. “Nor do youknow who I am.”

Howard Norwyn nodded.“I shall explain,” resumed the tall per-

sonage. “My name is Lamont Cranston.Perhaps you have heard it.”

“Lamont Cranston!” exclaimed Norwyn.“The famous globe trotter?”

“Yes. This is the curio room of my NewJersey home.”

“I begin to understand,” declaredNorwyn. “You purchased stock from Mr.Hobston some months ago. I rememberhim mentioning you as a customer.”

The thin lips still retained their smile. Therewas a reason for the expression. The facewhich Howard Norwyn viewed was thecountenance of Lamont Cranston; but itswearer was not he.

The real Lamont Cranston-a singular in-

dividual who traveled as fancy suited him-was at present in Afghanistan. He wouldnot be back in America for six months tocome. When he made his long excursions,Cranston never announced his destination.His friends as well as his servants had noidea when he might return.

There was one, however, who kept aclose check on Lamont Cranston’s jour-neys. That one was The Shadow. WhenThe Shadow knew that Cranston was faraway, he frequently found it useful to takeadvantage of the millionaire’s eccentrici-ties.

Cranston always kept his establishmentin operation. He never talked with his ser-vants regarding his travels. They weretrained to expect him home at any hour, onany day; and they were used to his strangedepartures. Hence The Shadow, duringCranston’s absence, often assumed thecharacter of the globe-trotting millionaire.The secluded New Jersey mansion servedhim well as a headquarters.

“I was one of Hobston’s clients,” statedThe Shadow, in the quiet tones that char-acterized Lamont Cranston. “I called hisclub last night and learned that he had goneto his office. So I went there, myself, tocall on him.”

“You registered in the lobby?”“No. I happened to pass the man who

was on duty. It was not until the elevatorwas going up that I realized that I had ne-glected to sign. There was no use in myreturning to the ground floor. As mattersdeveloped, it was fortunate that I did notregister.”

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Norwyn stared as the speaker pausedreminiscently. He saw significance in thequiet smile.

“When I reached Hobston’s office,” re-sumed The Shadow, “I found his body.George Hobston had been murdered. Therewas a light in the vault room. I opened thedoor-”

“But it was locked!”“Not quite.” Again the smile. “It was

jammed and it caused me a bit of trouble.You were in the vault room, coming to yoursenses as I worked with the door. When itswung open, you apparently took me foran enemy.”

“I remember. I had a gun-”“Which I took from you. There was no

time for palaver. I was forced to overpoweryou and carry you away, for your owngood. I feared that the police might findyou.”

“And blame me for the murder?”“Yes. As they have already done.”

WITH these words, The Shadow passeda newspaper to Howard Norwyn. Theyoung man paled as he saw his name inthe headlines. The newspaper trembled inhis hands. Then came the reassuring voiceof Lamont Cranston.

“By good fortune,” remarked TheShadow, “I brought you to the basement;thence to the subway. My chauffeur waswaiting with the limousine on FourteenthStreet. He drove us here.

“No one knows where you are-no one,except myself.”

“But-but I must surrender to the police!”

blurted Norwyn. “I-I must tell them mystory.”

“And thereby play into the murderer’shands. That is not the proper course. No,my friend. I have decided that you shallremain here as my guest.”

“Until when?”“Until this case has cleared.”Howard Norwyn uttered a sigh of relief.

He remembered the confidence that he hadgained from this stranger last night. He wasbeginning to feel more at ease. He realizedthat Lamont Cranston was a friend uponwhom he could rely.“Make yourself quite at home,” declaredThe Shadow, in an easy tone.

“Free yourself from all qualms. No onewill ever guess where you are staying.Richards, my valet, will see that you areprovided with whatever you may need.”

With this reassurance, The Shadow be-came silent. Howard Norwyn realized thatit was his turn to speak. The steady eyeswere inquiring; they wanted his story.

“I didn’t expect what happened lastnight,” asserted Norwyn. “It all beganaround half past eight, when I received atelephone call from a customer named SethDeswig. It was Deswig’s secretary whocalled. He insisted that he must have somestocks that belonged to him-shares ofMiddlebury Preferred-and I knew that Mr.Hobston had them in the vault.

“So I called Mr. Hobston at his club. Hesaid he would go to the office and open thevault. I was to join him there. When I ar-rived, I-I found him dead.”

“And the vault?”

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“Was open. Envelopes and folders werescattered on the floor. Before I could in-vestigate, some one landed on me. When Iwoke up, I was in the vault room. You wereopening the door. I had a revolver.”

“The gun that was used to kill Hobston.”“So I realize. It-it must have been planted

on me.”“Exactly. With you were envelopes con-

taining listed securities that belonged toHobston’s customers. It looked as thoughyou had been trapped, while committingrobbery.”

“I understand that. But what I can’t guessis why the murderer didn’t take those se-curities that he must have come to get-”

Norwyn paused abruptly. He saw a newsmile forming on Lamont Cranston’s lips.He waited, expecting an explanatory state-ment. It came, as a question.

“Did Hobston,” questioned The Shadow,“ever show you an itemized statement ofthe securities in his vault?”

“No,” admitted Norwyn.“Did he ever mention,” resumed The

Shadow, “that he had invested a consider-able amount of money in securities of hisown choice?”

“He said that he never missed opportu-nities when they came his way.”

“You have given the answer. You werenot the only person to whom Hobston madethat statement. Let us suppose that Hobstonhad purchased-privately, of course-securi-ties worth about half a million dollars.Where would he have kept them, assum-ing that he might wish to sell at the mostopportune time?”

“In the vault.”“Under whose name?”“His own.”Silence.

THE truth dawned on Howard Norwyn.He realized that wealth had been takenfrom that vault. The murderer had rifledthe strongbox of Hobston’s own posses-sions-of wealth known to the dead invest-ment man alone-of securities that would notbe listed in the office records.

The burglar had deliberately passed upthe stocks and bonds that Hobston held inother names. Many of these might havebeen poor investments; others might haveproven non-negotiable. The unlisted wealthhad been taken; the rest had been left toadd proof to the frame-up against HowardNorwyn.

“That is why,” declared The Shadow,your story must remain untold. There ismuch to learn; until we have the murderer’strail, you shall remain here.”

The tall speaker arose. He opened thedoor of the curio room and summonedRichards. He told the servant to see to hisguest’s comfort. With that final order, hedeparted.

Howard Norwyn, returning to the roomwhich had been assigned him, heard thepurr of a motor. Looking through the win-dow, he saw the limousine rolling from thedriveway of the broad-lawned estate.

TWO hours later, a light clicked in a dark-ened room. Bluish rays shone upon a pol-ished table. White hands-one wearing a

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gleaming gem that sparkled in the glare-appeared upon the woodwork.

The Shadow had reached Manhattan. Hewas in his sanctum, a strange abode knownonly to himself. Clippings appeared uponthe table; with them, reports in ink, inscribedin code.

Writing faded as The Shadow finishedreading these reports. Such was the waywith messages that The Shadow gainedfrom his agents. Passing to the clippings,The Shadow studied them with care.

These newspaper reports were of vari-ous dates. They told of unsolved crimes indifferent cities. To them, The Shadowadded items that pertained to the death ofGeorge Hobston. The hands rested uponthe table.

George Hobston’s murder was the latestof several crimes that seemed discon-nected except for one vital point. All hadremained unsolved. Was that coincidence,or did it mean an actual connection? Thiswas the answer that The Shadow sought.

Reports from agents told of possiblecrimes that might be committed. When TheShadow was temporarily balked in the faceof crime, he looked for opportunities thatmight attract crooks.

This was how he had learned of GeorgeHobston. On a sheet of paper, The Shadowwas writing the name of Rutledge Mann.A secret agent of The Shadow, Mann con-ducted business as an investment broker.He had informed The Shadow that GeorgeHobston had made large purchases ofstock that might logically be kept in the vaultat the Zenith Building.

The Shadow had not mentioned Mann’sname to Howard Norwyn. But he had al-ready sent word to Mann to perform an-other duty on this case. A light was gleam-ing on the wall beyond The Shadow’s table.The white hands removed earphones fromthe wall. The Shadow spoke in a whisper.A quiet voice responded:

“Burbank speaking.”“Report,” ordered The Shadow.“Report from Mann,” declared Burbank.

“He called Seth Deswig. The man is inFlorida.”

“Deswig’s secretary?”“Deswig has no secretary.”“Report received.”The earphones clattered to the wall. A

creeping laugh sounded within the enshroud-ing walls of the sanctum. From RutledgeMann, the message relayed throughBurbank, The Shadow had learned thatHoward Norwyn had been hoaxed.

Had Norwyn stated to the police that hehad received a call from Seth Deswig, thecheck-up would have proven another markagainst Norwyn. Had the young man addedthat it was Deswig’s secretary who hadcalled, his statement would have soundedlike an excuse.

Norwyn knew Deswig as one ofHobston’s customers. Had Norwyn, as thepolice supposed, gone to murder and robGeorge Hobston, only to be trapped, hisnatural action would be to give some rea-son for summoning Hobston to the office.To lay the call on Deswig’s non-existentsecretary would have proven disastrous.Here was another point that showed how

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well-planned the frame-up had been. TheShadow knew that he had work ahead.Cunning men of crime had played a craftygame.

Men of crime. The Shadow’s laugh indi-cated that the master sleuth knew the gameinvolved more than a single individual. Hishand was making notations, that came aswritten thoughts, disappearing after the inkdried.

SOME one had learned that GeorgeHobston had great wealth in his vault. Thatmight have been any one of many whoknew Hobston. Some one else had learnedthat Seth Deswig, one of Hobston’s cus-tomers, had left Middlebury Preferred inHobston’s keeping. Some one else had ar-ranged the murder and the robbery. Crimehad been planted on Howard Norwynthrough multiple scheming.

Again the earphones clicked. In responseto Burbank’s voice, The Shadow gave anorder.

“Instructions to Vincent,” was his whis-pered command. “Cold-canvass the ZenithBuilding. Look for suspicious tenants.Check on those who have recently takenoffices.”

“Instructions received,” came Burbank’sreply.

The earphones clattered. A click soundedas the bluish light went out. A grim laughsounded in the blackened sanctum. Itawoke shuddering echoes that died in hol-low emptiness.

The Shadow had departed. As yet, hecould rely only upon a long shot-an investi-

gation of persons in the Zenith Building,through the aid of Harry Vincent, a capableagent. The Shadow knew that he was onthe right trail; but it was one that wouldtake time and might prove hopeless.

Coming crime. The Shadow scented it.For the present, he had shredded clues thatmight lead in different directions. All ofthem, The Shadow knew, would endabruptly. Criminals of a strange sort hadcooperated in clever crime.

The dying laugh had been foreboding.Mirthless in its sound, it had told TheShadow’s thoughts. At times, this masterinvestigator found himself confronted byproblems that could not be solved beforecrime struck again.

New robbery-perhaps with murder as itsaccompaniment-this was the token of thefuture. Though The Shadow might not gainthe opportunity to prevent it, another epi-sode of evil might bring him close enoughto strike.

The Shadow knew that he was facingsupercrime. He expected to encountermethods that he had never met before. Inthat assumption, The Shadow was correct.

CHAPTER VII.

CRIME INCORPORATED.

TWO DAYS HAD PASSED since themurder of George Hobston. New

news occupied the front pages of the NewYork journals. The police were still lookingfor Howard Norwyn. This fact was pro-claimed in short columns on inside pages

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of the newspapers.The Shadow, too, had gained no progress.

He had learned that Seth Deswig was com-ing home from Florida; Harry Vincent, can-vassing offices in the Zenith Building, haddiscovered nothing. Slender clues werebringing no immediate results.

Somewhere in Manhattan-not in oneplace, but in several-The Shadow mighthave found the answer to perplexing prob-lems. He knew that men of crime could beforced to speak, if discovered; but he hadnot gained the opportunity to learn theiridentities.

The police search for Howard Norwynhad passed from public interest. Yet therewere people who still gave it their concern.On this new evening, when the night wasas misty as the time of Hobston’s death, aquerulous old man was thumbing throughthe final edition of a newspaper, looking fornew reports on the futile man-hunt.

The old man was a wizened creature.He was lying propped upon the pillows ofan old-fashioned bed. Beside him, on thetable, were numerous bottles of medicine.His breathing came in wheezy gasps, withintermittent cackles of senile joy. From themist beyond the half-opened window, theoccasional flap-flap of tires on asphalt in-dicated that he was in the second story ofan old house on a secluded street. The glarethat hung within the swirling fog told thatthe house was within twenty blocks ofTimes Square.

The old man had found the evening itemthat pertained to the police search. His eyesblinked as he read the new report of fail-

ure. His lips spread in a smile of sordiddelight. Again the cackle; then a coughingspell that racked the old man breathless.As the wizened face sank back into thepillows, the door opened.

The man who entered was a dry-facedindividual whose countenance was solemnand gloomy. He was evidently an attendantwho had the old man in his care. He ap-proached the bed and stood in readinesswhile the convulsion ceased.

“You are prompt, Garwald,” cackled theold man, when he had regained his breath.“Well, you need not worry. Your duties willsoon be ended. When this finishes me”-the old man coughed as he clutched his thinthroat-”you can find more suitable employ-ment. After all, you are a secretary, not atrained nurse.”

“I am in your employ, Mr. Talbor,” re-turned the solemn man, quietly. “I take whatcomes.

FULLIS GARWALD

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TALBOR shot a look at Garwald. Aknowing smile appeared upon the old man’slips. The secretary noted the expression,but made no comment. He stood silent asTalbor chuckled with wild glee.

“You take what comes! Ha-ha-ha-” Theold man trailed a laugh. “You always takewhat comes. You’re right, Garwald. Quiteright. You take what comes.”

Unsmiling, Garwald shook his head. Hisaction indicated that he could not under-stand his employer’s mirth. Still cackling,Talbor gripped the newspaper and thrust itinto Garwald’s hands. He pointed, withscrawny finger, to the news account thatconcerned the search for Howard Norwyn.

“Read that, Garwald,” he ordered. “Readit. Tell me what you think of it.”

“Very well, sir.Garwald read the item in solemn fash-

ion. When he had finished, he looked to-ward Talbor for an explanation. The old manwas sitting up in bed. His paroxysm ended,he was studying his secretary, smiling ashe did so.

“What do you make of it, Garwald?”questioned Talbor.

“Make of it?”“Yes. Do you think that Howard Norwyn

murdered George Hobston?”“Most certainly. The evidence is appar-

ent.”“Ah!” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “You

have been reading previous accounts, eh,Garwald?”

“Yes,” confessed the secretary, “I mustadmit that I have.”

“Good.” Talbor settled back into the pil-

lows. “Very good. I am glad to learn it.Now let us see. I am Barton Talbor-an oldman-dying. You are my secretary, FullisGarwald, nursing me in my last illness.

“In your spare time, you read news con-cerning crime. You read about a murder.Good. Why do you read about murders,Garwald?”

Fullis Garwald made no reply. He staredat Barton Talbor and blinked in owlish fash-ion. The old man chuckled.

“I’ll tell you why,” asserted Talbor. “Youread about murders because they interestyou. The reason murder interests you isbecause you have considered murder your-self!”

Garwald nearly forgot himself. Hestepped toward the bed, his fists clench-ing. A look of sudden fury came upon hisface and faded. Talbor chortled.

“You would like to kill me,” laughed theold man. “You would kill me, if you thoughtthat the blame could be shifted to some oneelse. But you have decided to let me die;and you hope that you will be alone herewhen I pass to another world.”

Garwald made no response to the im-peachment. He betrayed no new sign ofnervousness. He waited quietly to hearwhat else Talbor might say.

“You think, Garwald,” declared the oldman, “that I have wealth hidden in thisroom. You would like to find it; to rob myheirs of their due. I can’t blame you,Garwald. My relatives are a shoddy lot; butthey will get my money just the same. It isstowed in safe deposit vaults. My lawyerhas the keys, along with my will.

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“I’m sorry for you, Garwald. I’ve seenyou eyeing this room, looking for some hid-ing place. So I’m going to help you out. Go,there, to the mantel. Press it, as I tell you.”

FULLIS GARWALD hesitated. A frownshowed upon his solemn face. Hesitationended, he turned and followed the old man’sbidding. He reached the mantelpiece thatprojected above the old fire place.

“Press inward,” ordered Barton Talbor,with eyes half closed. “Then to the left.Inward again. To the right. Draw out-ward...”

Garwald was following the instructions.As a climax to the old man’s final state-ment, a sharp click sounded from the fireplace. Garwald stooped to see that the rearof the fire place had dropped. Something

white showed in the cavity beyond.“Bring out the envelope,” came Talbor’s

order. “Then close the fire place. It willlock automatically. Carry the envelopehere.”

Garwald obeyed. He appeared at thebedside, holding the large envelope that hehad found behind the fire place. Talborgripped it with his scrawny hands andopened it with ripping fingers. From the in-side, he drew two objects. One was asmaller envelope; the other, a folded pa-per. He retained the envelope and passedthe paper to Garwald.

“Open it,” ordered Talbor.Garwald did so. To his surprise, the sheet

of paper resembled a stock certificate. Hestarted to read its wording; he arrived nofurther than the title.

Garwald stooped to see that the rear ofthe fire place had dropped. Somethingwhite showed in the cavity beyond.

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There, in large printing, he observed thestatement

CRIME INCORPORATED

A chuckle came from Barton Talbor. Theold man’s eyes had opened. His hands wereholding the envelope; they gestured towarda chair beside the bed. Fullis Garwald satdown. He listened while the old man spoke.

“Garwald,” declared Talbor, in a solemntone, “I have left my heirs half a milliondollars. I am giving you a legacy worth twicethat amount. The certificate that you nowhold will mean your fortune.

“Crime Incorporated. A wonderful name,eh, Garwald? A wonderful organization,also. One that you can appreciate. Particu-larly when you learn its history from thefounder-namely, myself-Barton Talbor.”

Garwald had folded the document. Hewas staring intently at his aged employer.Keen enthusiasm was showing on his usu-ally solemn countenance.

“I have made my fortune.” stated BartonTalbor. “I gained my wealth through crime.Not ordinary crime; but craft. Subtle meth-ods were my forte when I was younger.

“I learned that there were others, ascrooked as myself. Also, like myself, theykept their methods covered. It occurred tome that men of our ilk should be bandedinto a cooperative organization. That,Garwald, was the beginning of Crime In-corporated.

“I was the founder; but all are equal. Ichose two men; I knew that both werecrooked. I told them each my scheme. I

gained their cooperation. These two mendo not know each other. I am the only linkbetween them.

“I issued myself this share of stock inCrime Incorporated. To each of them, Igave similar certificates. I supplied themwith codes for correspondence. Thus weformed a chain of three, with myself as theconnection.

“Each of them, in turn, solicited anothermember. Those new members gained oneman apiece. That plan has continued, untilCrime Incorporated now numbers morethan twenty chosen persons, each a craftymaster of crime, in his own right.”

THE old man paused to rest upon thepillows. He cackled reminiscently. Witheyes shut, he continued:

“I saw at once that stock bearing thename Crime Incorporated would be a dan-gerous possession. So I changed the nameon the other certificates. I am the only manwho owns a share of the original stock. Theothers bear the title Aztec Mines, a namewhich struck my fancy. But every holderof such stock knows its true meaning. Az-tec Mines is simply a synonym for CrimeIncorporated.“This envelope contains the names of mytwo original associates. With it are details-by-laws and procedures-all in special code.Every member of Crime Incorporated holdsa share labeled Aztec Mines; also thenames of the two men whom he knows;and a coded table of instructions.”

Talbor paused wearily. The explanationhad tired him. Garwald, observing the op-

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portunity, interposed a question.“What is the purpose of Crime Incorpo-

rated?” he asked. “How does the organi-zation operate?”

“We further subtle crime,” explainedTalbor, slowly. “One member sees oppor-tunity for great gain. He sends coded mes-sages to his two contacts. They copy thenote and send it along. A statement ofplanned crime goes through the entire chain.

“Then come the replies. Each memberadds his own suggestion. If cooperation isrequired, volunteers make known theirreadiness. We call ourselves by numbers-not by names.”

“And of all the twenty,” questionedGarwald, “you know only two?”

“Yes. Each man knows but two. Thoseat the end of the chain know only one, untilthey gain new members. Some times, amessage goes along the line, suggestingnames of members to be solicited. But theymust be followed up by those at the endsof the chain.”

Again, Barton Talbor paused. FullisGarwald unfolded the certificate of hold-ing in Crime Incorporated. He was begin-ning to understand the value of this sheetof paper.

“Each share is transferable,” remarkedTalbor, opening his eyes. “That certificate,Garwald, is my legacy to you. In this enve-lope, you will find the names of the twomen whom I know. We shall send themmessages to-night, informing them that FullisGarwald has replaced Barton Talbor asholder of certificate number one.

GARWALD opened the envelope asTalbor thrust it in his hands. He found asheet of paper, with a peculiar code ofoddly-blocked letters. He also found twosmaller envelopes. He was about to openone when Talbor stopped him with theclutch of a scrawny hand.

“No, no!” exclaimed the old man. “Thoseare for emergency only!”

“How so?” asked the secretary.“They are from the two men whom I

know,” explained Talbor. “Each contains thename of the man next beyond in the chain.Thus I know two men; I also have thenames of two others. You will notice thatthe envelopes are coded, to tell from whomthey came.

“Suppose that one of my friends shoulddie suddenly. Suppose that he should haveno opportunity to do what I am doing now-make a transfer of his certificate. Whatwould happen?”

“The chain would be broken.”“Precisely. But by opening the proper

envelope, it would be possible for the mannext in line to learn the name beyond thebroken link. The breach would close auto-matically. Crime Incorporated would con-tinue without interruption!”

There was triumph in the old man’scackle. The secretary nodded his under-standing. He realized the cleverness of hisemployer’s organization.

“We are sworn,” declared Barton Talbor,“not to open those envelopes except whenactual emergency compels. My oath,Garwald, is transferred to you.”

“I understand.”

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The old man shifted in his bed. From atable, he plucked a letter which had comein the afternoon mail. He drew out twosheets of paper. One contained letters inthe block code; the other a succession ofquaint circles.

“This came to-day,” declared Talbor. “Ittells that crime has been successful. Canyou guess to what crime it refers?”

“The murder of George Hobston?”“Yes. That deed has been planted on

Howard Norwyn. One member of our chainplanned it. Others aided in its completion.All along the line, we have been waitingfor that crime to be finished. Some one elsenow has the chance to suggest a masterstroke. This time”-Talbor chortled huskily-”it will be my turn. No”-his tone saddened-”not mine. Yours, Garwald, as my succes-sor.”

“You have a crime already planned?”“Yes. One that can be accomplished only

with the aid of Crime Incorporated. I shallreveal it to you, Garwald, and you can sendyour word along the chain. But first-mostimportant-is the code. That depends upona key, here”-Talbor tapped his forehead-”and if you bring paper and pencil, I shallreveal it to you.”

“There are two codes from this letter,”reminded Garwald, as he produced a note-book and a pencil. “One consists of circles;the other of blocks, like those which werewith the certificate.”

“You must learn both,” stated Talbor.“The circled code is a blind. It is simple todecipher. So we use it for trivial, uselessmessages. The block code is the one of

consequence. It will never be deciphered.It is too subtle. It will baffle the greatest ofcryptogram experts; for it depends upon aspecial principle.”

“Why the useless code?”“To mislead any who might find a mes-

sage. Any experimenter would shift to thecircles as the easy one to solve. Finding auseless message, he would think thesecodes to be a puzzler’s game. Finding theblock code too difficult for ordinary solu-tion, he would regard it as something of noimportance. We are crafty, Garwald, wewho form Crime Incorporated!”

Propping himself upon the pillows, the oldman took the pencil in his scrawny righthand. Letter by letter, he formed the al-phabetical arrangement of the codes: firstthe circles, then the blocks.

GARWALD stared as Talbor dealt withthe second code. He realized at once thatthe old man bad spoken true when he hadstated that it would baffle experts. Simplethough it was, the block code adhered to aprinciple that Garwald had never sus-pected.

Minutes passed. Old Talbor’s hand wasslowing. It completed the final task. With agasp, the old man settled backward.Garwald caught pencil and pad as theydropped from his loosened hands.

Barton Talbor’s breath was coming inlong, choking wheezes. His feeble fingerswere pressing at his throat. Staring at hisstricken employer, watching the pallid facewith its bluish, closed eyelids, Fullis Garwaldrealized that death was soon to come.

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Standing with the certificate of CrimeIncorporated in his hand, holding the codednames and by-laws, clutching the translatedformula that the old man had inscribed inthe notebook, Fullis Garwald smiled.

No longer did he seek to hide his evilnature. His curling lips were proof of BartonTalbor’s assumption. The servant, like themaster, was a man of crime. Barton Talborhad passed his greatest legacy to an heiras evil as himself.

Soon, Fullis Garwald knew, Barton Talborwould recover strength. Then the old manwould reveal his scheme for crime. Afterthat, word would go forth along the chainof members who formed Crime Incorpo-rated.

Days would pass before the new schemewould be perpetrated. Before that time ar-rived, Barton Talbor would he dead. In hisplace, the new Number One of Crime In-corporated, Fullis Garwald would reap theprofits of Barton Talbor’s scheme.

Swirling mist crept into the gloomy roomwhere plans were to precede death. Thesame chain that had worked toward themurder of George Hobston would soonwork again. Unbroken, the links of CrimeIncorporated would deal in profitable mur-der.

CHAPTER VIII.

ONE WEEK LATER.

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. Achubby-faced man was seated at a flat-

topped desk, staring meditatively through

an office window. Beyond was the skylineof Manhattan. Towering buildings, shadowyshapes in the dusk, showed glimmeringtwinkles from their lighted windows.

The chubby man clicked a desk lamp.He set to work sorting a stack of clippings.He made a reference to penciled notationsand began to inscribe a message that con-sisted of coded words in bluish ink.

This individual was Rutledge Mann. Acontact agent of The Shadow, Mann wascompiling data for his master. During theday, he had received reports from suchworkers as Harry Vincent and ClydeBurke. These were ready to be forwardedto The Shadow.

Rutledge Mann was gloomy. He knewthat progress had been lacking. HarryVincent’s travels through the Zenith Build-ing had brought no results. Clyde Burke hadlearned nothing new at detective headquar-ters.

Clippings, gleaned from recent newspa-pers, showed that the search for HowardNorwyn still continued. Mann did not knowthat The Shadow had provided refuge forthe missing man. Mann knew only that un-til some new phase of investigation devel-oped regarding the Hobston murder, TheShadow would not be satisfied.

Mann referred to a penciled notation thatmarked a telephone number. Nodding tohimself, he picked up the telephone and putin a call. A voice answered.

“Hello...” Mann’s tone was pleasant. “Isthis Mr. Seth Deswig?... Good. My nameis Rutledge Mann... Yes, I called before. Iunderstood that you would arrive home this

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afternoon.“Yes, I am an investment broker... Let

me explain my business. It regards a clientof mine.... His name is Lamont Cranston....Yes, the millionaire. He is interested in thepurchase of a certain stock... MiddleburyPreferred.... Yes, I was informed that youmight have some shares of it.

“I see.... You do not care to sell?... Thatis too bad. Mr. Cranston will be disap-pointed... Perhaps he may wish to see youin person. Would it be convenient? ... Good.To-night, then.... At your apartment.... Yes,I shall inform Mr. Cranston...”

Rutledge Mann inked another brief mes-sage. He tucked it in a large envelope alongwith other sheets and clippings. He scannedthe newspapers for a final check-up. Hefound no news item that he thought worthyof clipping.

IN one journal, Mann noted a brief itemthat referred to the estate of an old reclusenamed Barton Talbor. This man had died afew days ago. Mann thought nothing of thisshort account. To him, Barton Talbor wasa person of no consequence, even thoughthe old man had left large sums to somedozen-odd relatives.

Rutledge Mann never realized that he waspassing up a clue of vital consequence. Hadsome hunch caused him to take interest inthe affairs of Barton Talbor, Mann wouldhave accomplished much for TheShadow’s cause. As it was, the investmentbroker merely tossed the newspaper in thewastebasket.

Sealing his large envelope, Mann pock-

eted it and left his office. He appeared uponBroadway a few minutes later, hailed a taxiand rode to Twenty-third Street. There hesauntered to a dilapidated office buildingthat stood as a relic of a forgotten businessperiod.

Entering this edifice of the past century,Mann ascended a flight of warped stairs.He reached a blackened door; its dingyglass panel was scarcely discernible.Painted letters displayed the name:

B. JONAS

Mann dropped the envelope in a door slitbeneath the glass panel. He went back tothe stairs and left the building. All remainedgloomy behind the frosted pane that borethe name B. Jonas. Yet Rutledge Mann’svisit had been no blind errand.

He had dropped the envelope in TheShadow’s letter box. Communications de-posited through that obscure door invari-ably reached the personage for whom theywere intended. Though no one ever ob-served a person leaving or entering thatdeserted office, The Shadow had somemode of getting within.

THE proof of this occurred an hour later.A light clicked in The Shadow’s sanctum.White hands appeared, holding the enve-lope that Mann had dispatched to TheShadow. Fingers tore the wrapper. Keeneyes studied clippings and reports. A softlaugh sounded from the gloom beyond therange of focused light.

A click. The bluish rays were extin-

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guished. Again, the laugh shuddered weirdlythrough The Shadow’s sanctum. Thencame silence amid the Stygian walls. Themaster who inhabited this strange abodehad sallied forth on new business.

ONE hour later, a visitor was announcedat the apartment of Seth Deswig. The ar-rival was Lamont Cranston. Seth Deswig,a thin-faced, middle-aged gentleman, toldhis servant to usher in the visitor. A fewminutes later, Cranston and Deswig wereshaking hands in the living room.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr.Cranston,” declared Deswig in a thin-pitched voice. “I am afraid, however, thatyour visit will be to no avail. Your broker-Mr. Mann-called me in regard to a stockwhich I own. Middlebury Preferred.”

“Yes “ returned Cranston, quietly. “Thestock is not on the market; and I am tryingto obtain some shares.”

“I choose to hold mine. I was fortunatein purchasing Middlebury Preferred. I amdoubly fortunate in that I still own myshares.”

“How so?”“The stock was in the hands of my bro-

ker, George Hobston. It was in his vault.”“You mean the man in the Zenith Build-

ing? The one who was murdered in his of-fice?”

“The same. I left my stock with him along while before I went to Florida. Fortu-nately, nothing was stolen from Hobston’svault. The police turned the stock over tome, after they learned that I was the right-ful owner.”

“You are really fortunate,” observedCranston, in a thoughtful tone. Then, witha change of expression, he added: “Mr.Mann has informed me that you do not careto sell. I thought, however, that you mightknow of other persons who held this stock.Perhaps you could name some one fromwhom I might buy.”

“I know of no one,” returned Deswig,with a shake of his head. “I purchased thestock a year ago.”

“Did Hobston hold it all that time?” ques-tioned Cranston, in a casual tone.

“No,” responded Deswig. “I left it withone of his assistants-young HowardNorwyn-along with other securities, aboutthree months ago.”

“I see. I presume you purchased thestock through Hobston, originally.”

“Yes. I did.”“Too bad that Hobston is dead,” mused

Cranston. “He would have been the properman for me to see regarding a purchase ofMiddlebury Preferred.”

“No; you could not have done so.” Deswigwas positive on this point. “You see, Iwanted to buy more of the stock throughHobston. He was unable to acquire any ofit. Hobston was in the market for all thathe could get.

“I mentioned the matter to variousfriends. I told them that I had boughtMiddlebury Preferred from Hobston; thatif they knew of any one who held suchstock, to give their names either to myselfor Hobston.”

“I understand,” nodded Cranston. “Youtried quite frequently to locate holders of

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Chain of Death

Middlebury Preferred?”“I did. In fact, I discussed the stock with

people up until the time I left for Florida. Imentioned it several times to friends at theMerrimac Club.”

“And told them to see Hobston if theylearned that more stock could be ob-tained?”

“To see either George Hobston orHoward Norwyn. I stated that I had turnedover my present shares to Norwyn, whohad deposited them in Hobston’s vault forsafe keeping. You see, I intended to goaway-”

“Do you believe,” came Cranston’s ca-sual question, “that any of those club mem-bers might have uncovered someMiddlebury Preferred during your ab-sence? I suppose that you remember thenames of the men to whom you spoke?”

“Unfortunately,” declared Deswig, seri-ously, “I never mentioned the matter to anyparticular individual. Investments becomea group discussion at the Merrimac Club. Iremember only that I spoke of MiddleburyPreferred in a general way-to whomeverhappened to be on hand when the talkturned to securities.”

“Well, Mr. Deswig”-Cranston’s tone sig-nified readiness for departure-”it appearsthat we are both in the market forMiddlebury Preferred. Should you learn ofany shares that you do not intend to pur-chase, I would deem it a favor, should youcommunicate with Mr. Rutledge Mann.”

Five minutes later, The Shadow was leav-ing the apartment house where SethDeswig lived. The visit had proven one

point; namely, that Deswig’s name had beenused by the unknown person who hadcalled Howard Norwyn, prior to the mur-der of George Hobston.

UNFORTUNATELY, Deswig had beenunable to name definite persons to whomhe had mentioned that his shares ofMiddlebury Preferred had been placed inHobston’s vault through Howard Norwyn.Again, The Shadow was balked in his trac-ing of a clue.

The odds pointed heavily to some mem-ber of the Merrimac Club as the one whohad duped Norwyn. But there were asmany members in the Merrimac Club asthere were offices in the Zenith Building.

Sifting, alone, could find the culprit. Itwould be a process that might require manyweeks. All that The Shadow had gainedwas a negative opportunity. Should he finda suspect who belonged to the MerrimacClub; should he find one who had officesin the Zenith Building, he would know thathe had men of crime before him. But toreverse the process was a prolonged task!

Coming crime! Again The Shadowscented it. But when and where was it tostrike? Who would be the men responsiblefor it? While the police still followed theirhopeless hunt for Howard Norwyn, TheShadow was far in advance. Yet the mas-ter sleuth, like those of lesser skill, had en-countered an impasse.

Coming crime! While The Shadow con-sidered its potentialities, the beginnings ofsuch evil had been planted. On this verynight, cunning crooks were to spring their

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next attack.

IN the room where Barton Talbor haddied, Fullis Garwald was standing alone.The former secretary of the dead plotterwas smiling as he tore two sheets of paperand applied a match to them.

Garwald was living in Talbor’s home. Itwas his headquarters for the present; thishouse would be his abode until he chose tomove. The sheets that he had torn werecoded messages. They were the final re-plies to communications which Garwald, atTalbor’s instruction, had sent along the chainof Crime Incorporated.

Evil which Barton Talbor had plotted wasto find its completion to-night. Aided byother members of the strange criminalgroup, Fullis Garwald was ready to fareforth. His smile was one of recollection,coupled with confidence of the outcome.

For Barton Talbor had schemed well.Crime Incorporated had promised its fullaid. Before this night was ended, the lawwould find itself confronted by a mysteryfully as perplexing as the murder of GeorgeHobston!

Fullis Garwald dropped the burning pa-pers in an ash receiver. With a chuckle thatwas reminiscent of his dead employer, thesolemn-faced man walked from the room.He descended to the street and stepped outinto the night.

Two blocks from his starting point,Garwald hailed a taxicab. He gave thedriver an address on Seventh Avenue. Asthe taxi swung into the broad thoroughfare,Garwald, looking far ahead, saw a distant

sign that blazed this name:

HOTEL SALAMANCA

Again Fullis Garwald chuckled. The ad-dress that he had given the taxi driver wasin the block this side of the glittering sign.Fullis Garwald’s actual destination was thebuilding that carried the flashing letters.

Bound on crime, Garwald intended toalight and complete his journey on foot. TheHotel Salamanca was his goal. Arrivedthere, he would be ready to complete thescheme of evil that Barton Talbor had de-signed.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHAIN PREPARES.

WHILE FULLIS GARWALD’Staxi was swinging north on Seventh

Avenue, a man was entering the HotelSalamanca. Stoop-shouldered, faltering ofgait, with a mass of white hair bulging frombeneath his oddly-shaped hat, this individualappeared to be a mild-mannered man oflearning.

Arriving in the lobby, the man’s faceshowed like parchment in the light. Hisbowed figure hobbled forward; a heavycane enabled him to proceed at a fair pace.In his left hand, the elderly man was carry-ing a bag. A bell hop sprang forward totake the burden; the old fellow waved himaway and continued his faltering stride tothe desk.

“Any word for me?” he inquired, in a

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pleasant voice: “Any messages for Profes-sor Devine? Professor LangwoodDevine?”

“No, sir,” replied the clerk with a smile.“No mail this afternoon.”

The old professor turned and hobbledfrom the desk. He entered an elevator andnodded to the operator as he ordered theman to take him to the twenty-fourth floor.

Like the clerk, the operator smiled. Pro-fessor Langwood Devine was a new andeccentric guest at the Hotel Salamanca. Hehad come here only a few days before; hehad a penchant for carrying his own lug-gage and he seemed to relish walking sticks.The cane that he carried to-night was dif-ferent from the last that the operator hadseen. Heavy, with rounded silver knob, itformed an interesting curio.

The professor nearly tripped as hestepped from the elevator. The operatorcaught his arm and kept him from falling.The old man’s hat dropped off, revealingthe full mass of his bushy white hair. Theoperator handed him the headpiece; Pro-fessor Devine bowed in thanks. Wheezingfrom the sudden jolt, he hobbled toward hissuite which was on the south side of thetwenty-fourth floor.

The professor entered a room marked2410. He passed through a little entranceand hobbled into a living room. Here bookslay piled in disarray. Opened bags showedmasses of manuscripts. Three canes-alldifferent in appearance-were stacked to-gether in a corner. The professor placedhis bag upon a chair. He laid the cane be-side it. He hobbled to the bedroom that

adjoined and turned on a light. Hobblingback toward the entry, he turned out theliving room light.

Semidarkness was the result. The onlyshaft of illumination came from the door ofthe bedroom. The old professor movedback toward the chair where he had placedbag and cane.

HE still hobbled, but not so noticeably asbefore. Though actually advanced in years,his strength was by no means gone. Pro-fessor Devine seemed somewhat youngerand more virile now that his actions couldnot be observed.

By the chair, he picked up his walkingstick. He twisted the silver knob; then pulledit. The cane lengthened in telescopic fash-ion to twice its original length. The old manunscrewed the knob. A spool of fish linecame in view. The old man rolled the spoolalong the floor; then hobbled after it andcompleted the unrolling. Methodically, hefound the free end of the fish line and tiedit to the handle of his bag.

Carrying the lengthened cane to the win-dow, the professor removed its tip. A sharpspike showed in the end of the double-sizedwalking stick. The professor set the caneagainst the radiator and opened the win-dow.

This suite fronted on a side street. Acrossthe thoroughfare was an old building-a deca-dent apartment house some twenty storieshigh. The flat roof showed its dull surfacebehind a parapet. Off from Times Squarecame the glow of brilliant lights; but the in-direct illumination revealed nothing upon the

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silent roof.Placing fingers to his lips, Professor

Devine gave a low, peculiar whistle. Hewaited. A reply-similar to his signal-camefrom behind the parapet, forty feet awayand thirty feet below. The professor pickedup the cane. From it ran the long fish linethat terminated at the bag handle. Makingsure that the cord was free, the old mangripped the six-foot cane as one wouldgrasp a harpoon.

He used his left hand to steady his shakylegs. Leaning against the radiator, Profes-sor Devine drew back his right arm. Thatlimb had lost no precision. With a forwardswing, the professor sent the harpoon whiz-zing through the air. The fish line whinedas it followed. The weighted shaft clearedthe opposite parapet by fifteen feet andstruck point downward in the surface ofthe roof.

Quivering back and forth, a white line inthe darkness, the transformed cane re-mained at an upright angle. The entire roofhad been the professor’s target. The oldman had not missed.

Hobbling back to the bag, the professoropened it and produced a coil of light cable.Meanwhile, the remainder of the fish linewas paying out. Some one on the oppositeroof had picked up the harpoon. The linebecame taut; the cord had been gatheredin from the other end. The professorchuckled as he attached the thin cable tothe end of the fish line. This was a simpleprocedure; a loop in the end of the cablemade it possible.

The professor tugged the line that he had

released from the handle of the bag. Onesignal was sufficient. The fish line movedtoward the window; the cable followed it.The professor watched until the cable wasnearly paid out. He grasped the loose endand carried it to the radiator. Here heslipped the end loop over a knob that pro-jected from a heavy pipe. He gave a tug.The man at the other end pulled the cabletaut.

Back again to the bag; this time, Profes-sor Devine produced a small bar attachedto a pair of tiny wheels. He carried this tothe window and clamped it on the cable, sothat the wheels ran free. The bar formed alittle car which a man could grip and holdin safety.

Peering from the window, the professorsaw the line of his cable. It ran above theparapet of the building opposite. It was at-tached, apparently, to the iron pillar thatsupported a water tank on the roof. Thecable showed as a dull silver line from thisheight. Yet any one looking upward fromthe street below would never have detectedits presence.

Hobbling from the window, the profes-sor picked up the silver knob and the silvertip of his harpoon cane. He carried theseto the corner and attached them to a plainwalking stick. Chuckling to himself, the oldman picked up the bag and took it into thebedroom.

FIVE minutes passed. When ProfessorLangwood Devine again entered the livingroom, he was clad in pajamas. He washolding an opened book in his left hand. He

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Chain of Death

hobbled to the outer door and turned theknob. He pulled the door a half inch inward.Though it apparently remained closed, theautomatic latch was loose so that any onecould open the door at will.

Returning to the bedroom, the professorturned out the light. A few seconds later,he pulled on a lamp above his bed. Seatinghimself beneath the covers, the old manleaned his head against a propped up pil-low. He reached to a table beside him,picked up a pair of spectacles and beganto read.

Professor Langwood Devine made theperfect picture of an elderly savant, engag-ing in comfortable study. His peering eyeswere intent upon the pages before him. Heseemed unperturbed by the outside world.

Yet in the space of the few previous min-utes, Professor Devine had marked him-self as other than a scholar. His uniquemethod of communication to the roof of theopposite building; his act of stretching acable and providing a car-both proved thathe had prepared for some event to come.

Professor Langwood Devine was a mem-ber of the insidious chain that constitutedCrime Incorporated. The worker on theopposite roof was another factor in that evilgroup. Between them, they had preparedfor coming crime. They were the aids whohad sent back their suggestions to FullisGarwald.

Crime was due to strike to-night, here inthe Hotel Salamanca. Fullis Garwald wascoming alone, to begin the evil work. Theway was paved for his escape. Suite 2410would be his goal after his accomplishment

of crime.Aided by the brains of men whom he had

never met; taking up bold efforts that deadBarton Talbor could not have accomplished,Fullis Garwald was already assured of suc-cess.

CHAPTER X.

A MURDERER STRIKES.

PROFESSOR LANGWOOD DEV-ine had retired, content that his aerial

cable could not be seen from the streetbelow. The professor’s assumption waswell formed. Already, peering eyes weregazing upward, trying to spy the slender lineof steel from the chasm of the thorough-fare.

Fullis Garwald had arrived at the corneron which the Hotel Salamanca was located.A pleased leer appeared upon his lips ashe stared toward the dull glow of the sky.Garwald could not see the cable. That waswhy he smiled.

The arriving man’s eyes turned as theylooked upward. On the top floor of the ho-tel-one story above the twenty-fourth-a tinysparkle showed at a window. The twenty-fifth floor was a penthouse; and some onewas at home.

Entering the lobby of the HotelSalamanca, Garwald strolled to a cornerwhere the house phones were located. Hecalled the penthouse and spoke in a voicethat was gruffer than his usual tone. Heasked for Mr. Gaston Ferrar. A short pause;then Ferrar himself was on the wire.

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“Good evening,” declared Garwald, in agruff tone. “I have come to see you aboutthe green.”

“Ah! My friend!” A suave voice cameacross the wire. “You have decided uponthe matter? I thought perhaps that I wouldnot hear from you. Come up, at once.”

Garwald smiled as he hung up the re-ceiver. He entered an elevator where sev-eral people were already standing. Hewaited as the car stopped at various floors.When the twentieth was reached, Garwaldwas the only remaining passenger.

“Penthouse,” he stated, in a gruff tone.The elevator man turned as the door

clanged. He did not see Garwald’s face.The passenger was studying a dinner menuposted at the back of the car. The operatorhesitated.

“Who are you going to see?” he ques-tioned.

“Gaston Ferrar,” answered Garwald,without turning. “He is expecting me.”

The operator started the car upward. Hestopped at the twenty-fifth. Garwaldstepped forward while the doors wereopening. His head was faced slightly to-ward the side. Again, the operator failed tonote his features.

The car remained stationary with theoperator watching while Garwald rang abell at the opposite side of a little anteroom.Garwald’s back was toward the car. Whena servant opened the door, the visitorstepped through. The operator closed thedoor and descended.

“You wish to see Mr. Ferrar?”The servant was questioning Fullis

Garwald. The solemn-faced man made noeffort to hide his features. He looked theservant squarely in the eye.

“Yes,” he said testily. “I came to see Mr.Ferrar. Tell him that I am here.”

“Your name?”“Tell him I am the friend who called from

downstairs.”The servant went into an inner room. He

returned and motioned Garwald to the door.As the visitor entered, the servant closedthe barrier from the outside. He was evi-dently following instructions which he hadjust received from his master.

FULLIS GARWALD was standing in asmall, but magnificent room. Every item offurniture-from heavy chairs to massivetable-was an antique of value. Garwald’seyes went toward the corner, where a lan-guorous man was seated at a bulky writingdesk. Brown eyes stared from a pale,pinched countenance as Gaston Ferrarlooked toward his visitor.

“Who are you?” questioned Ferrar, insurprise. “I do not know you. I expected tosee-”

He paused, apparently loath to utter thename. Fullis Garwald supplied it, smiling ashe did so.

“‘Barton Talbor,” he declared. “He wasthe man whom you expected.”

“He could not come?”“No.”“Why? Is he ill?”“He is dead.”A troubled look appeared upon Gaston

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Chain of Death

Ferrar’s face. Fullis Garwald did not dis-play concern, he calmly seated himself in achair opposite the writing desk.

“My name,” he stated, “is Fullis Garwald.I was secretary to Barton Talbor. Beforehe died, he told me of his acquaintanceshipwith you, Mr. Ferrar. Perhaps if I give thedetails of his statements, you will know thatmy claim is genuine.

“Proceed,” suggested Ferrar, sinkingback in his chair.

“Barton Talbor,” declared Garwald,“once possessed some rare gems. He soldthem-all except a certain, emerald, ofSiamese origin, which he kept. You, as acollector of such gems, came to Talbor pri-vately and offered to buy the stone. Youhad learned that it was in Talbor’s posses-sion.”

“That is true.”“You said that if Talbor chose to sell, you

would buy. You also stated that if he wishedto take other jewels in its stead, you wouldlet him choose from your collection, up to avalue greater than that of the emerald.”

“Correct.”“Barton Talbor told you to visit him again.

When you came, he said that he wouldnever part with the emerald unless circum-stances should force him to do so. Headded that if such circumstances arose-such as poverty or financial failure-he wouldnever want it to be known that he had beenforced to sell.”

“That is right. Go on.”“So Talbor-who was quite eccentric in

his ways-said that should he come to you,he would mention neither his name nor the

emerald. He declared that he would an-nounce himself by simply stating that hehad come to see you about the green.”

“Those were his exact statements.”Fullis Garwald settled back easily in his

chair. From his pocket, he produced a smalljewel case. He placed it on the desk as heleaned forward. He sprang the cover. Asparkling emerald glistened in the light.Gaston Ferrar crouched forward, his paleface keen with eagerness.

“The Siamese emerald!” he cried. “Howdid you gain it?”

“As a reward for faithful service,” statedGarwald, in a solemn, convincing tone.“Barton Talbor died wealthy. He dividedhis existing estate among his heirs. He gaveme the emerald before he died.”

“Poor Talbor.” Ferrar shook his head. “Ican see him plainly-a weary man-as he waswhen last I visited him. He loved that em-erald; and would not part with it, muchthough I coveted the stone.”

“My own circumstances,” said Garwald“are very moderate. I value the emeraldbecause of its actual value. Talbor told methat if I came here in his stead, I could dis-pose of it to you.

“Certainly,” assured Ferrar. “I am stillanxious to purchase it. Of course”-hepaused doubtfully-”I should first make sureregarding your statements. I have only yourword as proof that Barton Talbor is dead. Iseldom read the daily newspapers. Underwhat circumstances did Barton Talbordie?”

GARWALD produced a clipping from his

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Chain of Death

pocket. It was Barton Talbor’s obituarynotice. He passed the item to Ferrar. Thepale-faced collector nodded. The clippingconvinced him.

“How much money are you asking?” heinquired.

“I do not want money,” replied Garwald,with a touch of shrewdness in his voice. “Iwould prefer gems from your collection-On the same terms that you promisedBarton Talbor.”

“But your circumstances are moderate.”“Frankly, they are. I am simply following

advice that Barton Talbor gave me. He saidthat all collectors have gems that mean butlittle to them. He added that collectors fre-quently purchase more than their meansallow.

“It follows that a collector, like yourself,would give greater value in jewels than incash, when purchasing a rare item. I canreadily dispose of gems. So I would preferto exchange, rather than to sell.”

Gaston Ferrar frowned momentarily; thenhe leaned back and laughed. Garwald’scalm frankness amused him. It did more; itgained his full confidence. He picked upthe jewel case, removed the mounted em-erald and smiled as he saw the beauty ofthe gem. Replacing the case upon the desk,he arose and went to a safe located in thewall.

“You shall have your terms,” he laughed,as he turned the combination. “I shall abideby my offer to Barton Talbor. I shall showyou my entire collection; then I shall pickout gems from which you can choose. Youare right; I can spare gems more than

money. I promise you that I shall give youvalue beyond that of the emerald.”

Ferrar produced a long, flat jewel box.He turned to face Garwald. His lipstrembled; his arms began to shake. FullisGarwald had risen. In his right hand he washolding a revolver.

“What-what-”Ferrar’s exclamation came in a gasp. It

brought a command from Garwald. In re-sponse to the crook’s order, Ferrar stag-gered to his chair and dropped the jewelbox upon the desk.

“You fool!” spat Garwald. “You havefallen for the game. Not my game, mindyou, but Talbor’s. This is what he intendedto do. He baited you with that emerald, sothat he could capture your entire collec-tion.

“Why do you think he wanted his namekept quiet? Why do you think he insistedthat he would speak of the ‘green’-not ofthe ‘emerald’? Simply to make his path aneasy one. That is all.”

Ferrar sat stupefied. Garwald’s faceshowed its evil leer. Suddenly, the collectorbroke forth with a challenge.

“You cannot escape from here!” he ex-claimed. “If you take the jewels you willbe traced. You must have been Talbor’ssecretary. The law will find you.”

“Not through your testimony,” scoffedGarwald. “You will never speak, Ferrar. Iam here to murder you-in that very chairwhere you now sit.”

THE fiendish words had the very effectthat Garwald wanted. With death facing

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Chain of Death

him, Ferrar took recourse to desperation.He howled for his servant.

“Larmond!” he cried. “Help me! It’smurder-murder-”

Garwald stood rigid. He had purposelyrefrained from firing. A shot might havesent the servant scurrying for help. A cry,however, was bringing him on the run. Foot-steps sounded outside the closed door asFerrar began to rise. Garwald swung aquick glance. He saw the door knob turn-ing. Swinging his eyes toward Ferrar, hefired point blank.

Ferrar collapsed in his chair. The bullethad been aimed straight for his heart.Garwald did not wait to witness the result.Turning, he covered the servant, who wascaught flat-footed in the doorway. With ahideous laugh, Garwald pressed finger torevolver trigger.

Larmond made a frantic dive for cover,just as the revolver spurted. Garwald sawthe servant stagger. He heard his body clat-ter in the hall. Pocketing his revolver, themurderer leaped to the safe. Jewel boxescame forth in his eager hands. Garwaldpacked them in his pockets. He added thebox that was on the table; for the finish, heseized the little case that held the Siameseemerald. He started for the door of theroom.

A look of startled surprise appeared uponGarwald’s morbid face as the killer reachedthe outer room. Larmond, the servant, wasnot in sight. Leaping to the door of anotherroom, Garwald saw the man slumped at atable, telephone and receiver in his hands.

Too late, Garwald realized that his shot

had merely crippled Larmond. Thewounded man had managed to reach thetelephone. He had given the alarm. Fiercely,Garwald raised his revolver. Larmond, see-ing him, tried to move from the table. Hesprawled upon the floor. Garwald furiouslyfired two bullets into his helpless body.

Positive that his shots had not been heardoutside the penthouse, Garwald had lin-gered in Ferrar’s room. Larmond’s call forhelp had changed the situation. Even whileGarwald was backing from the spot wherethe servant’s body lay, the door of the an-teroom opened. Swinging, Garwald saw aman who was evidently the house detec-tive; beyond the fellow, the open door ofthe elevator with the operator standing atthe control.

Garwald whirled to fire. The house dick,not expecting the sudden attack, made aplunge back toward the elevator. Two bul-lets whistled from Garwald’s gun as thedetective made the car. The third shot flat-tened itself against a closing door of theelevator.

Reaching the anteroom on the run,Garwald observed a bolted door at the right.He yanked back the bolt; opened the doorand sprang down a stairway. With longleaps, he gained the hall below. He was onthe twenty-fourth floor. Straight ahead wasthe path to the elevators.

Garwald fired as a man poked his headaround the corner. This time a shot re-sponded. The house dick had alighted atthe floor below. He was exchanging bul-lets with the killer. One of Garwald’s shotsnicked the detective’s arm. As the man

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staggered out of sight, Garwald sprang for-ward.

THE dick was diving for the stairway thatled to the floors below. Garwald aimed to-ward him; he dropped as an elevator doorclanged open and a uniformed policemancame into view. Garwald backed towardthe hall, firing as he retreated. The secondoperator-like the one who had brought thehouse dick-slammed the door as a protec-tion against the fire.

Garwald was in the corridor. He wastrapped. A policeman from the elevator;the house dick on the stairs; both could holdhim until reinforcements came. Garwald,however, made no new attack. Panting as

he ducked back into the corridor, hereached the door of 2410.

A quick glance told him that he wasmomentarily free from observation. Hepressed the door; it opened inward.Garwald was in Professor Devine’s en-try. Breathless, he closed the door be-hind him. Pocketing his revolver, he scur-ried for the window.

Whistles were sounding from Sev-enth Avenue. Whines of police sirensanswered the shrill blasts. The alarm hadbeen sounded. Fullis Garwald had notime to lose. He had come here for apurpose. He saw the trolley-bar restingon the radiator. He gripped it with onehand as he clambered to the sill.

Blackness ruled below. The sidestreet was an asphalt ribbon at the bot-tom of a gaping chasm. Garwald hesi-tated; for the first time he seemed to

sense the sounds from the avenue. Grip-ping the bar with both hands, he swung hisbody from the window.

Wheels clicked as the weight ofGarwald’s body sent the car-like bar whiz-zing down the cable-line. Gathering momen-tum, Fullis Garwald became a rocketingform that sped swaying toward the roof ofthe old building opposite. The trip was amatter of brief seconds. Garwald’s flightcarried him above the parapet; it ended ashe released himself upon the solid roof.

Swiftly though Fullis Garwald had acted,there was another who moved as rapidly.Professor Langwood Devine, coming fromhis bedroom, hobbled with remarkablespeed to the window. He saw Garwald’s

Turning, he covered the servant, who wascaught flat-footed in the doorway.

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any one come through here?”“I-I don’t think so,” protested the pro-

fessor. “I was dozing over my book, therein the bedroom. I am sure that this doorwas locked.”

“I’m Detective Cardona from headquar-ters,” informed the stocky man. “I just ar-rived here. I’m in charge. We’re search-ing this entire floor. Come on, men.

Professor Devine hobbled toward hisbedroom. Cardona was forced to smile atthe bewilderment of the bushy-haired oldman. Two policemen followed the ace de-tective to search the suite.

While Cardona was staring about him,he failed to see a motion beneath the ra-diator. There, the mailing tube was com-pleting its final revolution. Across the sillof the opened window, a streak of greenfish line was marking its final course.Cardona missed that sight also. When thedetective strode in the direction of the win-dow, the cord was gone.

Leaning from the window, the sleuthflicked the rays of a flashlight along a nar-row cornice. Satisfied that no one could beclinging to the wall, he turned and enteredthe professor’s bedroom. The old man waspulling on trousers and coat.

“You’d better put on slippers, too,” urgedCardona. “We’re sending every one downa floor, while we complete this search.We’re up against a murderer. It’s not safehere.”

The professor nodded. He donned hisslippers and hobbled into the living room.Cardona ordered a blue coat to accompanyhim. Reaching the hall, the professor joined

figure tumbling upon the opposite roof. Theold man chuckled.

In his hand, Professor Devine was hold-ing another object that he brought from hisbag. It was a cardboard mailing tube, a coilof fish line wrapped about it. The profes-sor thrust this cylinder beneath the radia-tor. He gripped the cable that was aroundthe radiator pipe, wrenched it free, and at-tached the end of the fish line. He slappedthe end of the cable as a signal.

Some one was pounding at the door ofthe suite. Unperturbed, the professorwatched the cable start outward from thewindow. Chuckling in satisfaction, heturned and hobbled to answer the door.

Crime had been completed. FullisGarwald had escaped. The last evidencewas making its automatic departure. Pro-fessor Langwood Devine, member of CrimeIncorporated, had no qualms to annoy him.

CHAPTER XI.

THE SHADOW’S FINDING.

AS PROFESSOR DEVINE NEARED the outer door, he clicked on the light

switch. He fumbled with the door knob;then turned it. Standing with book in onehand, he stood gaping in bewildered fash-ion as the door swung inward. He was faceto face with a swarthy, stocky-built man.

“What-what’s the trouble?” stammeredthe professor. “Has-has any trouble hap-pened?”

“Yes.” The reply came in a growl.“There’s been a murder in this hotel. Did

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a group of other guests who had beenaroused on the twenty-fourth floor.

FIFTEEN minutes later, Joe Cardonawas standing glumly in the corridor, whenan elevator door clanged open and a wiryyoung man stepped from the car. The ar-rival grinned as Cardona stared in his di-rection. The newcomer was Clyde Burke.

“Say!” Cardona’s tone was indignant.“How did you pull in here? I told them down-stairs that reporters weren’t to get by untilI gave the word.”

Burke drew back his coat. On his vestwas a glittering detective badge. The re-porter grinned as he watched Cardona’sexpression.

“I picked it up in a hock shop, Joe,”laughed Clyde. “It fooled those dumb clucksdownstairs. I told them I was coming uphere to join you.”

“You’ve got plenty of nerve,” growledCardona. “You’d better stow that medal,before I put some bracelets on you. If youlike tinware, I’ll let you have it.”

“Forget the handcuffs, Joe,” suggestedClyde, plucking the phony badge from hisvest. “You’ve got plenty to do withoutpinching me for impersonating an officer.I’m in-that’s all I wanted-and I won’t makeany trouble.”

“All right,” decided Cardona.Clyde Burke proceeded to make himself

inconspicuous while Cardona gave neworders to a squad of detectives who werestill engaged in concentrated search of thetwenty-fourth floor. When the ace turnedto go up the stairs to the penthouse, he

motioned Clyde to follow.At the top of the stairs, they found In-

spector Timothy Klein. The red-faced of-ficial was talking with the house dick, whosegrazed arm was bandaged. Two elevatoroperators and a policeman were also inevidence. Clyde Burke recognized that thefour must have played some part in themurderous affray. He listened while Kleinspoke with Cardona.

“I’ve been checking on these statements,Joe,” announced the inspector. “The housedetective says that the murderer was agloomy faced fellow.”

“Looked like an undertaker” informedthe house dick.

“I seen him,” added one of the opera-tors. “He was a solemn looking bloke, ifyou ask me.”

“They are positive,” resumed Klein, “thathe could not have gone below the twenty-fourth floor. The house detective coveredthe stairway. The officer was in the eleva-tor. The killer must be somewhere here-about.”

“But where?” demanded Joe. “I’ve gotmen on the roof-others in here-still moreon the twenty-fourth. I’ve even had a re-port from the street, to make sure the guydidn’t jump to his death.”

“How about the guests on the twenty-fourth?”

“They’re down on the twenty-third floor,under guard. The manager is there to iden-tify them.”

“We’ll go down there,” asserted Klein,“as soon as I post men to stay on watch.”

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CLYDE BURKE was a member of thegroup that descended to the twenty-thirdfloor. In a spacious suite, he saw the guestswho had been driven from their rooms.There were not more than half a dozen.The hotel manager was with them. Hearose protestingly as Klein and Cardonaentered.

“Gentlemen,” he announced to the offi-cials, “I can vouch for every one of theseguests. It is preposterous to suppose thatany could be the culprit for whom you aresearching.”

Cardona nodded as he eyed the group.Most of the guests were half clad. Theyhad been aroused by the excitement. Noneof them answered the descriptions givenby those who had seen Garwald.

The ace, however, insisted upon the for-mality of an identification. He questionedthe two operators and the house detective,as well as the policeman. All four werepositive that none of these guests could havebeen the fully-clad murderer who hadloosed shots during his mad flight.

The test was convincing. Cardona, him-self, saw that these people must be inno-cent. Of all the half dozen, ProfessorLangwood Devine impressed him as beingthe one who was least suspicious. The hob-bling old man, with his bushy white hair,could not possibly have been the activemurderer in the penthouse. The other guestsseemed nearly as innocuous as Devine

“Here’s what I suggest, inspector,” de-cided Cardona. No elevators are runningto the twenty-fourth floor. The stairway isblocked. Let these people go to other rooms,

below. In the morning, we can have theirbelongings brought down to them. In themeantime, we’ll make another search.We’ll go through every spot on the twofloors above; and we’ll do it so clean thateven a rat won’t escape us.”

The inspector nodded his agreement.Cardona strolled from the room with ClydeBurke in his wake. Growling, the detectiveswung and faced the reporter.

“Listen, you with the tin medal,” assertedthe sleuth, “I’ll give you the details of thiscase. Then you can beat it and write yourstory. You’re out so far as this search isconcerned.”

“But suppose you find the guy-”“You’ll hear about it.”“How soon?”“Call me on the telephone. Give your

name; ask to be connected with the pent-house. But don’t bother me more than oncean hour. Is that understood? All right; getout your pencil and copy paper and takedown the details.”

Fifteen minutes later, Clyde Burke ap-peared upon the street outside of the HotelSalamanca. He strolled to a store a blockaway. He put in a telephone call toBurbank. Methodically, Clyde gave all thedetails of the double murder in theSalamanca penthouse.

In addition, he listed the names of theguests who had been cleared and dis-missed. He added the numbers of theirrooms. That finished, Clyde Burke left thephone booth and headed for the Classicoffice.

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ONE hour elapsed. The search was stillcontinuing in the Hotel Salamanca. Cardonahad begun with the twenty-fourth floor. Hehad then headed up to the penthouse, leav-ing two detectives to patrol the twenty-fourth floor. Not a possible hiding place hadbeen missed.

A third detective was standing by the el-evators. He was within earshot of his com-panions. His duty was to watch the stair-way. He was following the same proce-dure that had made it possible for ClydeBurke to come upstairs as a false detec-tive: in brief, he was watching to see thatno one left the twenty-fourth floor, not tolook for any arrival.

Hence his eyes were not toward the stair-way. They were turned toward the corri-dors where the patrolling detectives werein charge. These men were pacing backand forth; occasionally one strolled up tothe penthouse to report to Joe Cardona.

The stairway that led below was black.From its solid darkness came a strange,moving patch that extended along the floor.It became the silhouette of a hawklike pro-file. It rested almost at the feet of the de-tective who was standing by the elevators.

The patch moved inward. It was followedby a form. The sinister figure of TheShadow came in sight. Noiselessly, the tallbeing approached until he reached a cor-ner of the wall beyond the elevators. Thesingle detective was standing near the cor-ridor. The Shadow was less than three feetfrom him.

Silently, The Shadow waited. The detec-tive, wearied of what seemed a useless vigil,

drew a cigarette from his pocket. He fol-lowed with a match. He turned as he ap-plied the flame to the cigarette.

Strolling from the entrance to the corri-dor, he approached the elevator. The flickerof the match showed his face to TheShadow. The sleuth, However, busied withhis light, did not observe that tall black shapein passing.

The Shadow swung noiselessly from hishiding place. He swept toward the corri-dor. The doors of rooms were opened. Apatrolling detective was moving in the op-posite direction. Before the man hadreached his turning point, The Shadow hadglided into one of the empty rooms.

There The Shadow waited until the manhad passed in the opposite direction. Again,the black-garbed phantom moved into thecorridor-across-then through another opendoor: the one marked 2410.

Safe in Professor Devine’s suite, TheShadow began an intermittent investigation.He timed his actions to the passing of thedetective. Whenever the man’s footstepsapproached, The Shadow slid to cover; atother times, he continued his examination.

THE SHADOW had chosen this suitewith a purpose. The Hotel Salamanca,though tall, was a narrow building. It frontedfor half a block on Seventh Avenue. Itsnorth side was high above an empty lot thatawaited new construction. Its western ex-posure was a solid wall. Its south side, how-ever, loomed above the dark cross street.There were but four rooms on this sidestreet. Two were in an unoccupied suite;

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the others belonged to Professor Devine.The Shadow had picked 2410 before

examining the empty suite. His keen eyes,peering about the professor’s living room,told him that there could be no one hidinghere. But they saw items of interest whichCardona had not noticed.

Beneath the radiator beside the openedwindow, The Shadow spied a cylindricalobject. Swiftly, he crossed and picked upthe mailing tube. He carried it to the bed-room. He opened the capped end. The tubewas made of more than card-board. It hadweight, due to a hollow metal cylinderwithin. A faint, whispered laugh came fromThe Shadow’s hidden lips.

Peering from the bedroom, The Shadownoticed three canes in the corner. He glidedforward, touched each in turn; then movedback to the bedroom with the cane that theprofessor had furnished with tip and knob.

Removing the silver ornamentations, TheShadow examined the cane. He saw thatit was a plain one; that no scoring had beenprovided for cap and ferrule. The Shadowreplaced the cap and the tip. He waiteduntil the patrolling detective had passed thedoor of 2410; then he went into the livingroom and put the cane in the corner; themailing tube beneath the radiator.

Returning to the bedroom, The Shadowobserved the professor’s empty bag. Henoted the bed lamp, which was still lighted.Again, The Shadow moved into the livingroom. He paused beside the open window.He noted scratches upon the sill; stooping,he saw where paint had been rubbed fromthe iron pipe of the radiator.

This time The Shadow was forced tomove swiftly before the detective againpassed the door of 2410. Gaining the bed-room, the black-cloaked investigator waitedcalmly while long minutes passed. At lastcame the sound of voices. Men had arrivedfrom the penthouse. Joe Cardona was talk-ing in the corridor, near the open door of2410.

“Somebody’s gone looney,” the ace de-tective was announcing. “We’ve gonethrough this whole place clean. There’s nosign of the guy we want. He must havemade some sort of get-away down thosestairs.

“I figure he passed the house detective.At any rate, he’s not on this floor; he’s notin the penthouse; he isn’t on the roof. I evensent two men up into the water tank.

“The hunt is off. I’m leaving two of youmen up in the penthouse; but that’s all. Sofar as this floor is concerned, there’s nouse watching it.”

Tramping footsteps were followed by theclangor of the elevator doors. Then camesilence. The Shadow was alone on thetwenty-fourth floor. Gliding out into the liv-ing room of the suite, he turned off the mainlight; then moved to the open window.

THE roof of the opposite apartment houselay dull beneath the city’s glow. TheShadow’s gaze looked toward the parapet;then beyond it, to the upright of the watertower on the deserted roof.

As clearly as if it still stretched abovethe chasm of the street, The Shadow couldvisualize the cable-line that had been pro-

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vided for Fullis Garwald’s escape. Themailing tube was evidence of the final fishline. Knob and ferrule, attached to thewrong cane, were proof of another shaft-the one which had been used like a har-poon. The empty bag told of the cable it-self.

The Shadow had found the answer to thekiller’s escape. He had not learned the iden-tity of the murderer who had made a get-away with Gaston Ferrar’s highly valuablecollection of gems; but he had settled uponone person who had been accessory to thecrime.

With Clyde Burke’s detailed descriptionof the crime; with the reporter’s addedcomments upon the guests who had re-moved from the twenty-fourth floor, TheShadow had picked one member of thecrime chain. Though he had not yet learnedof Crime Incorporated, the master sleuthhad made his start toward the unknown goalwhich he had determined to reach.

The Shadow had gained the identity ofone man through whom others might beforestalled before new evil struck. Byworking backward as well as forward, hehad opportunity to solve baffling cases ofthe past while he worked to prevent crimeof the future.

Through one man, whom he would trailwith unrelenting skill, The Shadow couldfind the facts that he needed. A sibilantlaugh came from The Shadow’s unseen lips.Whispered mirth floated above the stilledcanyon that lay between the high-walledbuildings.

The laugh of The Shadow was eerie as

“

it faded. Lingering echoes sighed from thenight air. Echoes like laughter boded ill forProfessor Langwood Devine!

CHAPTER XII.

THE CREEPING SHADOW.

HERE’S YOUR MAIL, professor.”“Ah, yes. Place it here on the desk,

Rupert.”Professor Langwood Devine leaned back

in his chair as a hunch-shouldered servingman put three envelopes on the desk bythe window.

“Your appointment, sir,” reminded Rupert.That’s right.” Devine nodded. “I had al-

most forgotten it. How soon is DetectiveCardona due to arrive, Rupert?”

“In fifteen minutes, sir.”The old professor leaned forward. He

rested his elbow on the desk and placedhis chin in his withered hand. He staredtoward his servant; Rupert waited.

“Matters were bad, three nights ago,”observed Devine. “They were most annoy-ing to me, Rupert, particularly because Ihad given you the evening off. Murder isvery trying to one’s nerves; Rupert, whenit occurs at close range.”

“So I can imagine, sir.”“Think of it, Rupert!” Devine paused to

picture the events of which he was speak-ing. “While I was seated in bed, placidlystudying theorems in Calloway’s admirablevolume on non-Euclidian geometry, therewas a frightful tumult at the door of mysuite.”

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“The police, sir?”“Yes. In fact, the very detective who is

coming here to-night. He was searching fora murderer.”

“They have not found the man yet, sir.”“So I have noticed by the newspapers.

Well, Rupert, it was a most horrible experi-ence. I was forced to leave my suite onthe twenty-fourth floor. I am thankful thatI did not have to return there.”

“This new suite is a better one, sir.”“Yes.” Professor Devine nodded in stud-

ied agreement. “You are right, Rupert. Thisis a superior suite; better than my old quar-ters. Of course, it is only on the eighteenthfloor; but with this northern exposure”-hewaved his hand toward the window, wherethe glittering lamps of Central Park showedas tiny sparkles in the distance-”I commandan excellent view. Furthermore, this suiteis more spacious than the one which I for-merly occupied.”

“Yes, sir.”“And the furnishings are more luxurious.

I must commend the management Rupert.They made up for my troublesome experi-ence by offering me a selection of any quar-ters that I might choose.”

The old professor turned about in hischair. He gazed with approval as he sur-veyed the living room. There were threedoors in view. One led to a spacious ante-room; the second to the professor’s bed-room; the third, located almost at theprofessor’s shoulder, opened into an extrabedroom which was unoccupied.

The furniture was of more expensivedesign than that of the suite on the twenty-

fourth floor. Moreover, the living room hadthe appearance of a large study, for eachdoorway was curtained with thick draper-ies of dark green velvet.

“Within a few days, Rupert,” remarkedProfessor Devine, in a pleased tone, “I shallhave you move into this unoccupied bed-room. Previously, you have had your quar-ters elsewhere. In the future-since no ex-tra expense is involved-you may as welllive here.”

“Thank you, professor,” returned the ser-vant. “I can arrange to move at the end ofthe present week.”

THE professor stooped forward andreached for his mail. That was a sign thathe was through with Rupert. The servingman went out into the anteroom.

As soon as Rupert had passed the cur-tains, Professor Devine glanced shrewdlyupward. Satisfied that Rupert was in theanteroom, the old man selected an enve-lope that bore no return address. He openedit.

Two folded sheets of paper slid upon thedesk. The professor spread them. Eachbore a cryptic code; but the two sheets dif-fered in appearance. One was marked withcircled characters, which read:

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Professor Devine placed this sheet aside.Carefully, he began to study the second,which he obviously regarded as of more

importance. It contained a succession ofblocks, which bore this message:

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Drawing forth two sheets of paper, theold professor picked up a quill pen and be-gan to copy the codes. He worked rapidly;his own inscriptions, while accurate, dif-fered from the originals as one person’shandwriting might vary from another’s.

The work required only a few minutes.Professor Devine covered the originalsheets with a large book. He folded hiscopies, placed them in an envelope andaddressed the wrapper in cramped style.

As the professor was completing his ac-tion, the curtains behind him moved. Therewas no sound to their motion; they partedalmost as though governed by some me-chanical force. Burning eyes appeared be-tween the hangings. Along the floor, astrange patch of blackness crept forward,forming a hawklike silhouette.

“Rupert!”As Professor Devine uttered the crisp

call, the creeping shadow paused. Theprompt appearance of the servant broughtabout an instant withdrawal of the black-ness on the floor. The curtains wavered bythe anteroom; as Rupert stepped into view,those behind the professor closed.

“Mail this letter,” ordered Devine. “Atonce, Rupert. Then return.”

As he passed the envelope to Rupert, theprofessor held it so the address was turneddownward. Eyes that were peering throughthe tiniest slit of the closed curtains couldnot observe the writing. The Shadow, hid-den in the unoccupied room, was balked inhis attempt to learn where the letter wasgoing.

Rupert departed. Professor Devine re-

ferred to the coded sheets upon the desk,he chuckled. He picked up a newspaperthat lay beside him. He turned the pagesuntil he came to the announcements ofsteamship sailings.

THE SHADOW’S eyes were at the cur-tain. The drapery had spread. Again, thesinister patch of blackness was creepingforward. The Shadow could not see thecodes; the professor’s newspaper obscuredthem. But the master sleuth’s keen opticsspotted the name upon which Devine’sbony forefinger stopped as it ran throughthe list of ocean liners. The name of theboat which the professor marked was theSteamship Mauritius.

Devine dropped the newspaper. Hereached for the codes. The phantomstretch of blackness was almost to the desk.Then came footsteps. Rupert was return-ing. The professor slipped the codes be-neath the book. The Shadow’s form fadedbehind the curtains.

“I mailed your letter, sir,” announcedRupert, from the door of the anteroom.“There will be a mail collection within fiveminutes.”

“Excellent,” responded the professor.“The telephone was buzzing when I re-

turned, sir,” added Rupert. “It was Detec-tive Cardona. He is in the lobby, sir. I toldhim I would notify him as soon as you wouldbe ready to receive him.”

“Very good, Rupert. I am pleased thatDetective Cardona is prompt. Do you know,Rupert”-the professor paused in meditativefashion-”I have been quite worried ever

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since Gaston Ferrar was murdered. I toldDetective Cardona of my qualms, for heseemed to be a capable chap in his ownprofession.

“I have valuables here in this suite. Theyare considerable enough to attract a rob-ber. So I decided to post Detective Cardonaregarding them. I felt that I should seek hisadvice as to the protection of my posses-sions. That is why he is coming here to-night.”

“A very good idea, sir.”“I want him to see you, Rupert,” spoke

Devine. “I would like his opinion concern-ing your potential ability as my sole atten-dant. I shall tell him that I intend to haveyou reside in the extra bedroom.

“Of course, if Detective Cardona decidesthat I need more protection, your situationwill not be jeopardized. I shall simply em-ploy another man to serve with you.”

“I understand, sir.”“Call the lobby, Rupert. Then go directly

to the elevators, to meet Detective Cardonawhen he reaches this floor.”

Rupert turned and walked toward theanteroom. Hardly had the servant passedthe curtains before Professor Devine liftedthe book and seized the coded papers. Hewas about to tear them, when he desisted.Knowing that he had a few minutes ahead,the professor leaned back in his chair tochuckle over the messages.

IT was then that the curtains behindDevine moved with greater swiftness. Asthey spread, a tall form looked slowly for-ward. Before it, a patch of blackness crept

with steady swiftness. The silhouettereached the table; it seemed to spring up-ward. The creeping shade covered Profes-sor Devine’s white hair. It cast an umbraupon the papers which the old man held.

The Shadow was seeking a long glimpseof the coded messages. His new opportu-nity ended as suddenly as it had arrived.There was a reason for the professor’sconclusion of his reading-a reason whichThe Shadow could not observe, for he wasin back of the old man.

Devine’s sharp eyes happened to notethe top of one sheet. There, upon the whit-ened paper, he saw the edge of the creep-ing profile. Staring warily beyond the codedsheet, the old man observed the remainderof the silhouette.

Whatever his emotions might have been,the crafty professor did not betray them.He pressed the coded sheets together. Hefolded them in a casual manner, as thoughthey were of little consequence. He laidthem on the desk and arose, apparentlypreparing to leave for the anteroom.

The creeping silhouette glided backward.Blackness faded from the floor. ProfessorDevine began his hobble from the desk; asan afterthought, he stepped back andleaned heavily upon the woodwork as heopened a desk drawer.

The old man’s hand was momentarily outof sight. As it withdrew from the drawer,his body covered it. Again, the professorshifted away from the desk; then, with aquick wheeling motion, he turned squarelytoward the curtains that covered the en-trance to the unoccupied room.

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prompted Devine’s downward move. The.32 described a falling arc; a bony fingerwas ready to loose the entire volley of thegun. With amazing precision, Devine hadchosen the exact spot where a huddled orcrouched body might be situated.

The proof of the insidious professor’sexactitude came from the curtain itself.Like an answer to the white-haired villain’sthought came a roar accompanied by atongue of spurting fire. The doorway ech-oed with the thunder of The Shadow’s au-tomatic.

Devine’s finger faltered. His hand loosed.The .32 dropped from his clutch. Gasping,the old man floundered to the floor. Theslug from a.45 had ruined the chances ofthe .32. Devine’s one mistake had been toThe Shadow’s gain.

The being behind the curtain had droppedwith Devine’s first aim. As the professor’shand had swung downward, The Shadow’sfist had been acting in return. Devine hadgained the first shots; but they had goneabove The Shadow’s head. The villain’ssecond guess had been too late.

The curtains parted. From between themcame a shape that seemed to rise like anavenging specter. The Shadow, pressed toa duel of death, had struck. LangwoodDevine, abettor of crime, potential mur-derer, lay upon the floor before the cloakedmaster, coughing his last breaths.

UPON the desk lay the folded papers,the clues to Devine’s part in crime. TheShadow, towering weirdly in the light, fromthe desk, was turning to reach for then when

A flash from Devine’s hand. Metalsparkled in the light; a bony finger made asnapping motion. The professor hadclutched a revolver from the desk drawer.Spurting flame came belching from themouth of the .32 as the crafty crook loosedhis sudden fire.

The professor had recognized the tokenof The Shadow. He had prepared his an-swer to that unseen presence. Decisive inhis action, he had loosed a murderous bul-let straight for the spot where the eyes ofThe Shadow had peered between the vel-vet curtains!

CHAPTER XIII.

DEATH STRIKES.

PROFESSOR LANGWOOD DEV-ine had aimed for blackness. Yet he

had not aimed blindly. Craftily, he hadgauged The Shadow’s spying action. Hehad fired to kill-straight for the exact spotwhere The Shadow had been hidden.

One bullet-two—deadly missives spedfrom the old villain’s revolver. These werebut the outset of the volley. Without pause,Professor Devine swung his weapon down-ward. His action showed his supercunning.

Swift though he had moved, Devine knewthat The Shadow might have acted withthe same prompt rapidity. No living beingcould have sprung away before the firingof the shots; but a dropping form, fallingwith simultaneous speed, might have es-caped the deadly aim.

It was this instantaneous thought that

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an unexpected interruption came from theouter door.

Rupert had left the door of the suite open.At the elevators, the servant had heard thesound of gunfire. He had dashed back tothe professor’s room.

His startled eyes saw Devine’s dyingbody on the floor; above it, the form of aneerie intruder.

Devine’s crimes had been concealedfrom his servant. To Rupert, the presenceof The Shadow was proof of the fears thatthe professor had advanced to-night. Thiswas the enemy whom Rupert’s master haddreaded!

Frantically, Rupert shouted for help as heflung himself across the room, straight forthe black-garbed form. Turning from thedesk, The Shadow swept to meet the plung-ing servant. With Rupert, The Shadow hadno quarrel. Yet in this moment of emer-gency, he could not stop.

Servant and Shadow met. Black armscaught Rupert’s springing form. Twistingin The Shadow’s clutch, Rupert went roll-ing sidewise across the room. His spread-ing arms encountered the wall. The Shadow,turning, was in the center of the room.

Gamely, Rupert staggered to his feet.Fiercely, he came up beside the desk whereDevine’s body lay. His eyes glimpsed therevolver close to the fallen form. Rupertseized the weapon.

The servant’s action was folly. TheShadow could have dropped him with asingle shot. By such procedure, TheShadow could have gained the folded ci-phers, which Rupert was unwittingly guard-

ing. To The Shadow, however, Rupert’sblind loyalty to an unworthy master wasbut proof of the servant’s character.

The Shadow whirled toward the door tothe anteroom. His action was anacknowledgement of Rupert’s bravery.Langwood Devine was dead. The codeswere safe from destruction. Much thoughThe Shadow had wanted them, he wasready to entrust them to the future.

As Rupert turned to fire at the being inblack, The Shadow was sweeping throughthe curtains to the anteroom. Rupert wasfrantic as he employed wild aim. His hastybullets zipped wide of their mark. TheShadow was gone.

A shout came from the hall. It was JoeCardona, coming on the run. The Shadowstopped abruptly; his tall form faded be-hind the opened door as the detective camedashing into the anteroom, revolver in hand.

Springing through to Devine’s living room,Cardona came face to face with Rupert,standing above the dead professor’s corpse.The tension ended, Rupert gasped vaguewords. Cardona, thinking that Devine’sassailant had taken to the room behind thedesk, hurried in that direction.

SWIFTLY, The Shadow came from be-hind the door. He turned toward the corri-dor. As he did, a form came plunging di-rectly through the doorway. It was thehouse detective, who had come up on theelevator with Joe Cardona.

The Shadow’s form dropped. Before thehouse dick realized what had happened, hewas hoisted upward by two arms that

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gripped his waist with the power of steelrods. The Shadow sent the man rollingacross the anteroom. When the bewilderedhouse detective came to his knees, his as-sailant had vanished.

The door of the elevator was open. Theoperator was peering, wild-eyed, down thecorridor. The Shadow, profiting by ClydeBurke’s description of the scene at Ferrar’smurder, fired a warning shot. As the auto-matic echoed, the operator dropped fromsight and clanged the doors.

The Shadow gained the stairway, a softlaugh rippling from his hidden lips. His formvanished in the darkness. The echoesseemed to continue as the weird intrudercontinued his downward course.

The elevator that had brought JoeCardona and the house detective was mov-ing downward to give the alarm in the lobby.The operator had hesitated behind his metaldoors, wondering if he should wait until thedetective returned. That was a point thatserved The Shadow.

A second elevator was coming downfrom the twenty-fourth floor. Its operatorknew nothing of the excitement on the eigh-teenth. Seeing a stop signal for the sixteenthstory, he halted his car and opened thedoors.

A tall passenger entered. The operatornoted a keen, hawklike visage. He glimpseda briefcase that the entrant was carrying.In methodical fashion, the elevator manclosed the doors. He let the car descend.There were no more stop signals. The carreached the lobby ahead of the one thatwas bringing the alarm.

Calmly, the passenger with the briefcasestrolled out through the lobby. He reachedthe sidewalk just as the other elevator cameto the bottom of the shaft. The alarm hadarrived; it was too late to trap the beingwho had caused it. The tall personage whohad left the Hotel Salamanca was TheShadow.

CHAOS had come again to the HotelSalamanca. In the furore which followedthe operator’s report, one man alone main-tained a steady composure. That was De-tective Joe Cardona. Although faced withwhat appeared to be a third murder mys-tery, the ace sleuth was calm.

He had summoned police. He had re-ported to headquarters. He had gained in-coherent statements from both Rupert andthe house detective. But amid it all, Cardonahad seized upon a potential clue. He hadfound the folded papers upon LangwoodDevine’s desk.

Joe Cardona was an unusual detective.He had a keen ability for gaining hunches;a remarkable aptitude for silence when itwas needed. Instinctively, Joe had decidedthat those coded messages might hold thekey to the death of Professor LangwoodDevine.

Murder at the Hotel Salamanca! Thealarm had gone rapidly. To-night, reporterswere on the job almost as quickly as In-spector Klein and the police surgeon.Through their early arrival, the news seek-ers managed to reach the eighteenth floorbefore they could be stopped.

The spokesman of the journalistic throng

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was Clyde Burke. To this reporter, JoeCardona gave terse statements regardingthe death of Langwood Devine. But theace sleuth said nothing of the discovery thathe regarded as the keynote to the case:those coded sheets that he had plucked fromthe dead professor’s desk.

WHILE Cardona was still at the HotelSalamanca, a bluish light was burning in asecret room. The white hands of TheShadow were taking earphones from thewall, where a tiny bulb was glowing to sig-nify Burbank’s call.

The Shadow’s weird voice called for thereport. Across the wire came the detailsthat Clyde Burke had gained from JoeCardona. There was no mention whateverof discovered codes. The earphones clat-tered back into their place.

Out went the bluish light. A sardonic laughquivered through the sanctum. Ghoulishechoes came from blackened walls. TheShadow’s mirth was strident.

For to-night, The Shadow had gainedmuch despite the unexpected events whichhad obstructed his path. He had learnedthat Langwood Devine was but one mem-ber in a group of criminals. He had seenthe dead villain forward word along thechain.

The Shadow knew that the key to hid-den crime lay in those coded sheets thatDevine had failed to destroy. Moreover,The Shadow knew that the all-importantpapers had fallen into good hands.

Joe Cardona held the coded messages.They would be safe-more than that, their

existence would be unknown- while theyremained in Cardona’s hands. The Shadowknew who held the cryptic papers. Withthat knowledge, he could find a way to learntheir exact contents.

The fading tones of The Shadow’s laughwere again foreboding. Previously, thatmirthful cry had presaged trouble for Pro-fessor Langwood Devine. On this occa-sion, it foreboded ill for Crime Incorporated!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CHAIN CLOSES.

AT NINE O’CLOCK the next morn- ing, Culbert Joquill entered his office

in the Zenith Building. There was a seriousexpression upon the dignified lawyer’s face.Joquill’s greeting to the office staff was nomore than a curt nod.

Reaching the inner office, Joquill seatedhimself behind the desk. He drew a foldednewspaper from his overcoat pocket. Withforehead furrowed, the attorney began toread a news account that he had studiedwhile riding hither in the subway.

The headlines told of death at the HotelSalamanca. Professor Langwood Devine,a scholarly old recluse, had been slain byan unknown assailant. Details were com-plete. The newspapers mentioned that thefray had commenced while ProfessorDevine was alone in his suite. His servant,Rupert, had returned from posting a letterto see the professor alive for the last time.

Still frowning, Joquill tossed the newspa-per aside. His eyes looked toward the tray

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upon his desk. There, projecting from themorning’s mail, was an envelope whichcaught the lawyer’s attention. Joquill seizedthe missive. He ripped it open.

Out came two folded sheets. One car-ried the circled code; the other, the seriesof block-like characters. These were thecopies that Professor Devine had made.

No wonder Culbert Joquill had beenalarmed by the reports of Devine’s death.The professor and the lawyer were con-necting links in the chain of Crime Incor-porated!

Joquill settled in his chair. He pondered.A smile showed on his benign features. Thelawyer was considering the circumstancesof Devine’s death as revealed by this for-warded copy of the word which Devinehad received.

Some member of Crime Incorporated hadstarted a request along the line. Last night,Devine had received his notes. He hadcopied them and forwarded the request toJoquill. That work had been accomplishedbefore Devine had faced the danger whichhad brought his death.

Culbert Joquill was positive thatLangwood Devine must have destroyed thecoded message that he had received. Thatstep, normally, should have preceded theforwarding of copies. The newspapers con-tained no mention of any papers found atDevine’s.

Joquill chuckled. The chances seemedcertain that Devine had destroyed his mes-sages. What if he had not? It made no dif-ference. Joquill had confidence in the codeitself; he was positive, also, that Devine

must have kept some excellent hiding placefor his documents that pertained to CrimeIncorporated.

Knowing Devine, Joquill recalled that theold professor had a special lodging some-where in the city-a place where he seldomwent-and the chances were that his stockcertificate and coded by-laws were con-cealed there.

The fact that Devine’s letter had comethrough the mail was all that Joquill neededto feel absolutely secure. Freed from senseof menace, the lawyer became methodi-cal. Taking pen and paper, he copied thecoded messages that he had received. Hisown writing showed a difference fromDevine’s.

WHILE his copies were drying, Joquillpicked up Devine’s notes and tore them toshreds. He raised the window and let tinyfragments of paper flutter out into thebreeze. Intermittently, like flurries of con-fetti, the bits of Devine’s notes were scat-tered beyond recall.

Returning to his desk, Joquill picked uphis own copies; he sealed them in an enve-lope. He wrote an address, sealed the let-ter and strolled from his office. He postedhis letter in the mail chute by the elevators;then returned to his private office.

Culbert Joquill had sent the request alongthe chain. The promptitude with which hehad copied Devine’s notes and mailed themproved that he could see no way in aidingcoming crime. In fact, the satisfied smilethat showed on the lawyer’s lips indicatedthat he felt he had done his share.

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The theft of George Hobston’s privatewealth had been a big job. Culbert Joquillwas holding vast spoils for later divisionamong the members of Crime Incorpo-rated. He regarded himself, for the present,as no more than a connecting link.

Yet Joquill had another duty. An emer-gency had arisen. Professor LangwoodDevine was dead-killed under circum-stances that had obviously rendered it im-possible for the old professor to transferhis franchise in Crime Incorporated. Therewould be no substitute to take the deadman’s place. A link was broken in the chain.

Culbert Joquill went to the door of hisprivate office and softly turned the key.Crossing the room, he opened the hingedbookcase. He stepped into the secret room.There he faced the solid back of the book-case. He pressed a panel. It moved up-ward, revealing a narrow space between

two vertical surfaces.From this cache, Culbert Joquill removed

an envelope. From the container, he pro-duced two smaller envelopes. He choseone that he knew had come from LangwoodDevine. He replaced the other, closed thetrick panel, and moved from the secretroom, shutting the bookcase from his of-fice.

At his desk, Joquill ripped open the sealedenvelope. He found a piece of paper thatbore a coded name. Joquill chuckled. Thiswas the name of Professor Devine’s otherfriend. In all probability, that man was atpresent opening an envelope of his own, tolearn the name of Culbert Joquill.

THE lawyer inscribed a note in thecircled code. His rapid writing showed thatthis was merely a formality; that the suc-cession of circles was merely a blind:

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Smiling, the lawyer folded both sheets andplaced them in a plain envelope. Methodi-cally, he tore up the little slip of paper thatrevealed the name of Professor Devine’sother connection. He tossed the bits fromthe window. Then, from memory, he ad-dressed the envelope:

Chalmers Blythe,Merrimac Club,New York City.

Carrying the letter, Joquill used his pri-vate exit to reach the hall. He returned afew minutes later, without the envelope. Heunlocked the door to the outer office, seatedhimself behind the desk and picked up themorning newspaper.

Casually, the attorney turned to the pagethat listed steamship sailings. He chuckledas he found the name of the SteamshipMauritius. The liner was not scheduled tosail for one full week.

Some one knew that crime could belaunched upon that ship. The plotter of evilhad stated his case to his fellow membersin Crime Incorporated. Word had come toChalmers Blythe; from him to LangwoodDevine; then to Culbert Joquill; and the law-yer had sent it further on.

Replies would be immediate. From some-where in the chain of crime, a crookequipped to do the task requested wouldpledge his cooperation in the stroke thatwas required. Members of Crime Incor-

Then he followed with a second message,which he prepared slowly, pausing to choosehis statements. This was in the blocked

code. Finished with his hieroglyphics, Joquillpondered over the message. It read:

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porated would act in teamwork aboard theSteamship Mauritius.

The plotter had probably sent requests intwo directions. Perhaps cooperative aidwould come from some one beyond Joquill;possibly it would come from the oppositeend of the chain. In either event, the wait-ing plotter would be assured of aid beforethe Mauritius sailed from New York.

Culbert Joquill chuckled. He had done hispart. Not only had he forwarded the re-quest; he was ready to send along the re-ply when it arrived. But he would send nomessage to Professor Langwood Devine.The dead man had been eliminated fromthe band of supercrooks. The new recipi-ent of Joquill’s messages would be a mannamed Chalmers Blythe.

Already, Joquill had phrased a coded noteto Blythe. He would probably receive a simi-lar epistle from Blythe himself. Unknownto each other in the past, Joquill and Blythewere now joined as friends. They hadbridged the gap left vacant by the death ofProfessor Langwood Devine.

The Shadow had been forced to slayDevine. That, in a sense, had been a vic-tory for The Shadow. But it had againbrought him to the end of a blind trail. TheShadow had simply broken one link in thechain of Crime Incorporated.

The break had been joined. Devine, dead,was a discarded unit. Culbert Joquill andChalmers Blythe were unencumbered.Crime Incorporated could proceed with itsheinous plans, its evil members hidden aseffectively as before!

CHAPTER XV.

CARDONA MEETS A VISITOR.

I AM GOING OUT this evening,Norwyn. Perhaps we can play our

chess match after my return.”Howard Norwyn nodded as he looked

up from the chess board. Before him, hesaw the tall form of his congenial host,Lamont Cranston. Dinner ended at theNew Jersey mansion, Norwyn had retiredto the smoking room while Cranston madea telephone call. They had planned a chessmatch during dinner; now it would have tobe deferred.

“You are going into the city?” questionedNorwyn.

“Yes,” came Cranston’s quiet reply.Norwyn seemed pleased. Though his host

was a leisurely, non-committal sort of per-sonage, the young fugitive sensed thatCranston’s frequent visits to New Yorkwere in his behalf. Norwyn’s worries hadquelled considerably during his extendedstay at Cranston’s.

“The limousine is waiting, sir.”Richards made the announcement from

the hallway. with a friendly nod to Norwyn,Cranston turned and left the smoking room.A minute later, the limousine purred awayfrom the drive, with Stanley at the Wheel.

IT was nearly an hour later when a lightclicked in The Shadow’s sanctum. Whitehands toyed with clippings. They reachedfor earphones. A voice came over the wire:

“Burbank speaking.”

“

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“Report,” whispered The Shadow.“Report from Burke,” informed Burbank.

“He has left headquarters. Cardona is stillthere, working on the Devine case.”

“Any mention of the codes?”“None.”“Report received. Burke off duty.”“Instructions received.”Earphones clattered. Again, the hands

were at the clippings. A soft laugh soundedin the gloom beside the focused light.Among the news items was one that hadbeen mentioned in a previous report. It wasa planted story in the New York Classic,put there by Clyde Burke through theShadow’s bidding. It announced thatMynheer Hansel Vaart, prominent econo-mist from the Netherlands, was due to ar-rive in New York.

Burke’s story-of half a column length-consisted of a reputed interview with theDutchman. The article was conspicuousenough to attract the attention of the aver-age newspaper reader.

The Shadow’s light went out. A soft laughsounded in the gloom. The sanctum wasempty. But The Shadow had not left theneighborhood of his abode. Another lightclicked in a second room. Its burning glarewas reflected by the polished surface of amirror.

Away from the light, motion was inprogress. At last, a shape moved forward,close to the polished looking glass. Theblackness of The Shadow’s cloak came intoview. The sable garment was drooping fromthe shoulders that wore it.

The slouch hat was gone. A face was

revealed in the light. It was not the masklikecountenance of Lamont Cranston. It wasanother visage that The Shadow, masterof disguise, had chosen to don as one wouldput on a new garment.

The face that showed in the reflected lightwas a puffy, robust one. Above it was theedge of a close-fitting wig that was toppedby thin hair of iron gray. White hands, mov-ing upward, smoothed the line where thewig began. Deft fingers, pressing againstcheeks and lips, were molding the counte-nance as one might work with clay.

MYNHEER HANSEL VAART,code expert and friend of oneof the principals in the story,whose help is obtained in solv-ing the cypher messages.

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Bushy eyebrows came into place. Theyfitted perfectly above the keen eyes. Theymatched the color of the hair. The work ofdisguise continued; it ended when a softlaugh came from large-formed lips. TheShadow’s task had resulted in the perfectformation of a countenance that presenteda virile man of nearly sixty years.

Out went the light. The folds of TheShadow’s cloak were drawn upward. Thencame silence. Masked by his chosen dis-guise, ready to put aside his cloak and hat,The Shadow was departing upon a definiteerrand.

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA wasseated at his desk in headquarters when afellow sleuth entered and passed a card tothe star detective. Joe studied the Old En-glish lettering. It bore this legend:

Mynheer Hansel VaartAmsterdam

“Hm-m,” mused Cardona. “Say- thismust be the Dutchman that I read about inthe Classic. Coming in from Holland on hisway to a big convention in Chicago. Whatdoes he want?”

“He wants to see you. He won’t saywhy.”

“Show him in here.”The detective left. He returned with a

tall, stoop-shouldered man who was attiredin a heavy overcoat, with large fur collar.

Cardona found himself staring at a re-markably distinguished countenance.Hansel Vaart seemed keen-eyed; his ro-

bust cheeks marked him as a man in finehealth. His dignity and friendliness com-bined to create confidence.

“What can I do for you, sir?” questionedCardona, in a polite tone. “I hope that youhave encountered no trouble since yourarrival in New York?”

“Trouble for me? Ah, no.” The visitor’svoice seemed saddened. “That trouble hasshappened, yess, to some one who iss afriend off mine. While I wass yet upon thesteam-boat, coming to New York. It wassthree nights ago.”

“You mean something happened on theboat? What ship?”

“The boat, no. It wass here, in New York.Mein freund, Herr Professor Devine. Heiss dead. It iss too bad, yess.”

“Ah!” Cardona was interested. “Youknew Professor Devine?”

“Yes.” The visitor nodded. “He hasswritten to me some times; but not for a longtime since. I wass to see him when I haffcome to New York. But he iss dead.”

“Devine had very few friends,” statedCardona. “He lived at one hotel, then an-other, finally at the Salamanca, where hewas killed. Did you ever write to him?”

“Not for a long time since.”“Where was he living then?”“At a hotel. It wass called the Darien.”“That must have been before he hired

Rupert,” mused Cardona. “His servant saidnothing about the Hotel Darien. Tell me,doctor, can you give me any clue regardingProfessor Devine?”

“Doctor, no.” The visitor chuckled. “I amjoost Mynheer Vaart. That iss all. But it

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wass to ask you about something that I haffcome here. Haff you found the Herrprofessor’s goads?”

“His goads?” Cardona seemed puzzled.“Yess,” nodded the visitor. “The goads.

The writing which iss in what you call thecipher.”

“You mean codes!” exclaimed Cardona,his face lighting with elation.

“Yess,” replied Mynheer Vaart.“Like this?” questioned Cardona, form-

ing circles with a pencil. “Or like this?” Hemade rough blocks. “Are those the codesyou mean?”

“Nein.” Vaart’s head was emphatic, inits negative shake. “Like this.”

He took the pencil and made a succes-sion of criss-cross lines. It was Cardona,this time, who shook his head.

“None like that,” said the detective, in adecisive tone. “But perhaps you can tell methe purpose of these codes that Devineused.”

“It wass to him a hobby,” asserted thevisitor, solemnly. “When he would write tofriends, he wass accustomed to use suchways. It wass not because the writingshould not be read by other people. It wassbecause he wass fond of those goads. Withme, he sent them first to make me be con-fused I think. But each time that he haffmade the goad different, I haff guessed it,word by word and haff sent him back theanswer.

“How long do you expect to be in town?”questioned Cardona, suddenly, as he roseto his feet.

“I must go by a train at midnight,” in-

sisted the visitor. “It iss to Chicago that Imust go from here.”

The detective glanced at his watch. Henodded; then spoke tensely to the placidDutchman.

“We found two coded messages atDevine’s,” confided Cardona. “I turnedthem over to a cryptogram expert, DoctorLucas Mather.

“Doctor Mather had no trouble with onecode-the message with the circles. But theother has stumped him. The circle messagewas not important. It appears to be exactlywhat you have described-a game that someone sent to Devine.

“But those blocks are puzzlers. We needall the advice we can get on them. If youhave had experience with codes written byDevine, perhaps you are the very personwhose aid we need.

“Suppose I take you out to Long Island.We’ll see Doctor Mather and talk with him.We’ll give you a look at the codes. It’s onlynine o’clock. I’ll guarantee to have you backin town in time to catch the midnight lim-ited.”

FIVE minutes later, Detective JoeCardona and his companion were ridingeastward in a speedy automobile. Theywere bound for the home of Doctor LucasMather, the cryptogram expert who residedon Long Island.

Joe Cardona was elated. The ace detec-tive had accepted Mynheer Hansel Vaartat face value. Through the possible aid ofthis friendly visitor from Amsterdam,Cardona hoped that he might gain a clue to

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the identity of the person who had slainProfessor Langwood Devine.

Joe Cardona was looking for a murder-ous crook. Not for one instant had he sus-pected that such a brand belonged to thedead professor. Hence Cardona’s actualpurpose summed to this: he was huntingthe slayer of Devine.

Cardona would have been amazed hadhe known that beside him in the speedingcar, was the very person who had killedLangwood Devine, in self-defense.Mynheer Hansel Vaart appeared too genu-ine-particularly because a newspaper re-port had preceded his coming to New York-to be regarded as an imposter.

Such a revelation would have astoundedCardona; the real identity of MynheerHansel Vaart would have left the detectivebewildered. For Joe Cardona, totally oblivi-ous to the truth, was taking a most remark-able visitor to view the codes at Mather’shome

The star detective was riding side by sidewith a supersleuth whose skill madeCardona’s ability at crime detection seemlike a puny power. Without the semblanceof a hunch that might have given him a lead,Joe Cardona was falling for the game of amaster mind.

Cardona had good reason to suppose thatthe taking of this visitor to Doctor LucasMather might bring great results in the so-lution of a baffling crime. But Joe Cardonahad no inkling of that actual reason whichwas so important.

The ace sleuth was taking a tremendousstep toward the ending of insidious crime,

despite the fact that he was acting blindly.He was about to lay the all-important evi-dence before the one master sleuth whocould use it best.

Joe Cardona was taking The Shadow tovisit Doctor Lucas Mather!

CHAPTER XVI

A QUESTION OF CODES.

THE SOLVING OF THIS circledcode was child’s play. The man

who wrote the message sought to makethe message difficult. Instead, he opened itto simple attack.”

Doctor Lucas Mather made this state-ment as he faced Detective Joe Cardonaand Mynheer Hansel Vaart. Mather, seatedbehind a table in a room which served himas a study, was pointing to the first of thetwo papers that Cardona had brought fromProfessor Langwood Devine’s.

Adjusting a pair of large spectacles,Mather peered toward the paper. A smileappeared upon his thin, pale lips. The cryp-tographer laughed scoffingly as he ran hisfingers along the inscription:

“

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“Let me explain my simple process ofsolution,” suggested Mather, in a methodi-cal tone. “I noticed, first of all, that themessage forms solid lines of characters.That would mean a jumble of words, un-less a special character were utilized to in-dicate a space.

“Counting the various characters,” pro-ceeded Doctor Mather, “I found that twosymbols each appeared with more fre-quency than the others. Each of those par-ticular symbols appeared exactly twenty-six times. Here are the characters in ques-tion.”

“The most rudimentary fact regardingstatements in the English language,” re-sumed Mather, “is that concerning the let-ter E. It will appear more often than anyother letter of the alphabet, provided thatno effort is made to reduce it by trickywording.

“Hence, in my basic study of this mes-sage, I had two characters-the crossedcircle and the plain circle-either of whichmight stand for the letter E. I began aprompt comparison of those two charac-ters; and I made an immediate discovery.

“The crossed circle could easily stand forE. The blank circle was doubtful. You willnote that the message begins with a blankcircle and ends with one. That was oneoddity. The second peculiarity was the in-tervals existing between blank circles. The

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third was the fact that no two blank circlesappear together.

“Assuming that the blank circle was ei-ther E or some other frequent letter suchas 0, or T, the intervals and lack of doublesstood against it. So I went back to my origi-nal theory, namely, that some character

“Beginning again,” explained Mather, “Iused the crossed circle as the letter E. Iwas immediately impressed by the ninthword in the message. It consists of five let-ters, ending in a double E.

“Referring to my dictionary of word end-ings”-the speaker paused to tap a book thatlay on the table-”I found very few wordsof five letters that end with a double E. Onesuch word stood out from all the rest. Itwas the word ‘three’; so I used it for the

ninth word of the message, thus.”The bespectacled man wrote on a blank

paper:

“The fifth word of the message is identi-cal with the sixteenth. Both are words offour letters, beginning with TH. My choice

stood for a space between the words. Thecharacter could not be the crossed circle;for it twice appears as a double. It must bethe blank circle. So I eliminated all the blankcircles and made this revised message.

The cryptographer produced a sheet ofpaper which bore the following code:

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was ‘this’ or ‘that’; of the two, I took ‘this’,because the words did not end in the char-acter that I had established as T.

“The procedure gave me two new let-ters: I and S. Studying the tenth word ofthe message, I saw that I had five of its sixcharacters. It ended in E, T, T, E, R. Thatmeant that the first symbol was probablyB or L. It eventually proved to be L. I shalltell you why.

“In the meantime, I had noticed the thirdword. Its second letter was I; it ended witha double character that was the same asthe first symbol of the tenth word. So I chosedouble L, as double B would not have fol-lowed the letter I. The tenth word provedto be ‘letter’; the third word ‘will’.

“I supplied T wherever it belonged. Iused the letter S, thus gaining plurals. WithB, I, R and H at my disposal, I made speedyprogress. The deciphered message neededonly a few fills. The twenty-second word-four letters- spelled W, H, E; so I finishedit with N. The last word of the message,with five letters gained, obviously spelled‘solution’.”

THE cryptographer was working with hispencil as he gave his illustration. He wascopying characters upon blank paper at arate that made Joe Cardona stare in won-der.

“All checked,” concluded Mather, “withthe exception of a few isolated letters thatI reasoned out with ease. For example, thefirst letter of the message. I read it as P, U,then two unknown characters, both alike,and finally L, E.

“What was the double letter indicated bythose central characters? The answer wassimple. Inserting double Z, I gained theword puzzle’. I might have used double D”-Mather smiled wanly-”but dealing with apuzzle and not with a puddle, I chose Z.

“Here, gentlemen, is the deciphered mes-sage. It is merely a cryptogram, I take it,that some friend sent to Professor Devineto see if he could solve it.”

Mather printed letters upon a plain pieceof paper. He handed the sheet to Detec-tive Joe Cardona, who nodded and placedit in the hands of Mynheer Hansel Vaart.

The message read:

PUZZLE SOLVERS WILL FIND THISCODE DIFFICULT BECAUSE THREELETTER WORDS HAVE BEEN ELIMI-NATED COMPLETELY THIS FACTOFFERS INTERESTING PROBLEMSEVEN WHEN EXPERTS ATTEMPTSOLUTION

“And here,” added Doctor Mather, draw-ing a paper from the desk drawer, is thecode itself, arranged in alphabetical order.You will note that I have merely guessedat characters which could be used for theletters J, K and Q; for those do not appearin the message.”

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The cryptogram expert looked upwardthrough his rimmed spectacles. He saw thenodding head of Hansel Vaart.

“Is that the way you figured out the mes-sages you got from Professor Devine?”questioned the detective. “Did yours fol-low the same line?”

“Yes.” The reply came methodically.“But some were more hard to read. Yess,much more hard. This one, it seems easy.So our friend, the good Doctor Mather, hasssaid.”

“Easy to you, maybe,” respondedCardona, “but it looks tougher than a dozencross-word puzzles to me.”

“Mynheer Vaart,” asserted Mather,“agrees that this code is rudimentary. But Iam positive that he will find the other mes-sage to be a complete riddle. I have been

unable to make any headway with it.”So saying, the cryptographer produced

the second message. He passed it to thevisitor. Keen eyes sparkled from beneaththe false eyebrows as The Shadow stud-ied the blocked code. Lingering minutespassed while Cardona and Mather watchedhim. Then The Shadow spoke, in the thickvoice of Mynheer Vaart.

“It iss indeed a different thing,” he an-nounced. “Never haff I seen one goad thatiss like this one. Nothing, never hass Pro-fessor Devine sent me like this.”

“Prevailing characters lead one no-where,” observed Mather. “I have triedevery form of cryptogram solution, but tono avail. I have resorted to foreign lan-guages. I have considered the use of extrasymbols for certain letters; such as two-or

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perhaps three-different characters to rep-resent the letter E. Yet I have been balkedincessantly.”

“But if it iss like this one,” suggested TheShadow, in his disguised tone, as he pointedto the solved code of circles, “why shouldit be that you haff tried so long? Perhaps itiss another message off no important mean-ing.”

“That’s what we don’t know,” interposedCardona. “Maybe the easy code was a blindto make this one look like it meant noth-ing.”

“Perhaps,” came the tones of MynheerVaart, “it iss a hoax that some one hassplayed upon mein poor dead friend. Hewass very good at these goads, wass Pro-fessor Devine. Maybe this wass made togiff him trouble. Maybe these blocks andso forth wass intended to mean nothing.”

“Say!” exclaimed Cardona. “That’s anidea! You mean a jumble of crazy lookingfigures that never were coded at all?”

“Yes.”“That is possible,” agreed Doctor Mather.

“Nevertheless, I shall still persist in my ef-forts to solve this intriguing cipher. If it isactually a coded message, I believe that itmust be of importance.”

Joe Cardona, studying the two personsbefore him, felt renewed reliance in thekeenness of Mynheer Hansel Vaart. TheHollander was studying the blocked mes-sage with a gaze of concentrated interest.Cardona gained a sudden inspiration.

“Doctor Mather has photostatic copiesof this message,” remarked the detective.“Perhaps you would like to take one with

you, Mynheer Vaart. I know that I can relyupon you to keep it out of sight; if you havea chance to work on it while you are inChicago, you might strike the key.”

“Ah, yes,” came the reply, with a nod.“If I could haff one copy of this goadedmessage, I might haff time to solf it, yess.Off course, since it iss not solfed by Doc-tor Mather, it may be that it can not be solfedby me.”

“I don’t know about that,” returnedMather, dryly. “Freak codes like this oneare very, very tricky. Perhaps, through over-concentration, I may have passed by asimple key to the solution. Here is a copy,Mynheer Vaart. I shall be pleased to haveyour cooperation in this difficult task.”

IT was eleven o’clock when MynheerHansel Vaart shook hands with DetectiveJoe Cardona at the entrance to the GrandCentral Station. The Hollander waddled intothe huge terminal. Joe Cardona returnedto headquarters. Shortly after midnight, hedecided to leave for the night.

Smiling to himself, Joe pictured MynheerHansel Vaart aboard the midnight limited,pondering over the cryptic message whichDoctor Lucas Mather had given him. Joefelt sure that the methodical Dutchmanwould work steadily upon the absorbingproblem.

Cardona would have been surprised hadhe known where the copy of the messagelay at present. It was not in the possessionof Mynheer Hansel Vaart aboard the mid-night limited, for no such passenger hadboarded the Chicago-bound train.

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had been glaring steadily for a space ofmany hours. Hands, unwearied despite theirconstant task, were inscribing charactersupon a sheet of paper.

The Shadow, like Doctor Lucas Mather,had struck a Tartar in the block-formedmessage. He knew, through experience,why the cryptogram expert had been will-ing to admit that the strange symbols mightbe meaningless.

The Shadow, himself, might have ac-cepted that very conclusion had he not beenpresent in Devine’s room when the old pro-fessor had received the message. ToDevine, this page had been quite readable.

The Shadow was sure that the solutionof the code depended upon some simplekey. Yet the vital point was absent.

The pencil poised above the scrawledsheet. Keen eyes focused themselves be-yond, to the center of the table, where thephotostatic message lay blue-tinged beneaththe light. The Shadow’s hand reverted tothe simple circled code which DoctorMather had so easily deciphered. The pen-cil, moved by steady fingers, inscribed ablank circle.

Spaces! This blocked message, like thecircled one, was solid. There must be someallowance for space between the words.That might prove the one point of similaritybetween the easy code and this difficultone.

The Shadow had looked for charactersthat might mean spaces. He had foundnone; but he was thinking of spaces in adifferent light. Why characters for spaceswhen spaces already existed? If certain

The copied message was tucked safelyin the pocket of a tuxedo jacket worn by apersonage who looked amazingly likeLamont Cranston, the globe-trotting million-aire. The message was resting for thepresent; for its holder was engaged in play-ing chess with Howard Norwyn, fugitivefrom justice, in the smoking room of a NewJersey mansion.

The Shadow had played a clever part.He had gained the message which Profes-sor Langwood Devine had received beforehis death. The Shadow knew that therewould be time to work upon its solution.

That task would begin upon the morrow.In the meantime, returned to his guise ofLamont Cranston, the master sleuth wasconcerned with his game of chess. Hisgambits and his checks were too much forHoward Norwyn’s defense. The blacks-moved by the long fingers of The Shadow-were picking off the whites that Norwynhandled.

There was something prophetic about thisfriendly match. Pawns and rooks were TheShadow’s quarry to-night.

Beginning with the morrow, he would planmoves to capture living men. Like pieceson a chess board, the members of CrimeIncorporated awaited the entry of TheShadow into their game.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SHADOW SOLVES.

A LIGHT WAS BURNING in The Shadow’s sanctum. Those bluish rays

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spaces in this coded message could be des-ignated as blanks, they would serve theirnatural use.

With his thought, The Shadow began tostudy the message between the symbols,

instead of viewing the actual charactersthemselves. He was looking for some littletouch that would point to separations. Hewas comparing each character with the onethat followed it. Suddenly, he struck the

The Shadow was sure that thesolution of the code depnededupon some simple key.

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point he wanted.Wherever a character showed a project-

ing line at the bottom, on the right, the onethat followed it showed a projecting tab tothe left. These coincidences occurred atintervals through the message, in a mannerthat could well signify spaces.

It was from this clue that The Shadowcommenced a reasoning process thatbrought him to an amazing deduction. Onepoint gained, he forged ahead until he dis-covered the weak spot in the code-a detailwhich the writer had never realized as anexisting weakness.

The Shadow had begun by studying whathe believed was a sample word. It readas follows, in the code:

At the left was a symbol with a lowertab to the left. At the right was a symbolwith a lower tab to the right. There wereseven characters in all. Did the lower tabs,alone, represent space indications, thusleaving a word of seven letters; or did theend characters depend entirely upon theirtabs, thus being total blanks with five let-ters between?

The Shadow sought the answer in thecode itself. He found a combination thatintrigued him. It read as follows:

Each of these four characters, accord-ing to The Shadow’s belief, had a spaceindication. Therefore the entire symbols

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could not be spaces. Two spacers mightcome together; one at the end of a word;the next at the beginning of a word; but notfour.

Therefore, The Shadow reasoned, eachsymbol must be a letter. The tabs alone werethe pointers to spaces. In brief, the twocentral characters were the letters of a two-letter word.

It was then that The Shadow’s handpoised above the paper. A full minutepassed. From hidden lips came a soft, whis-pered laugh of understanding. The Shadowhad struck upon a factor that another mighthave overlooked.

SUPPOSING that the two central sym-bols constituted the letters of a two-letterword, each with a space-pointing tab, whatwould the writer have done had he chosento inscribe a word of only one letter? Wherecould it have gone? Only in one spot-be-tween those central characters.

That, however, would force the existingcharacters into being nothing more thanordinary spaces-something which TheShadow had already reasoned they couldnot be. The Shadow’s eyes burned towardthe blank spot between the tantalizing sym-bols. The laugh that followed was the finalanswer.

The space itself bore the message! Suchwas The Shadow’s verdict. Letters de-pended upon the relationship of one char-acter to the next. These block-like figureswere doubled symbols.

The Shadow’s eyes gazed steadily uponthe coded photostat while his hand inscribed

the first four characters as they actuallyappeared:

Then The Shadow rewrote those samesymbols in a new formation; he spreadthem apart to make their meaning plain:

The first character-a lone half at the left-was merely a blank indication. The secondand third were each halves of the originalblocks that had stood at one and two. Theyrepresented a letter.

The same with the next pair of symbols;and the next; until the isolated half charac-ter that stood alone, its bottom tab pointingto the right. It was a spacer.

The Shadow had discovered a three-let-ter word. He did not pause with it for thepresent. His keen, deductive brain wasworking upon a clue which he had gainedat Professor Langwood Devine’s-the namein the sailing list which The Shadow had soreadily observed.

Running through the code with great ra-pidity, The Shadow found the symbols thathe wanted. He did this, by looking for two

words, each with nine let-ters that were side by

side. Heinscribedone abovethe other:

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The game was won! The letter S, ap-pearing twice in the upper word coincidedwith the final symbol of the lower S. Theletter I in ‘Steamship’ was properly dupli-cated in ‘Mauritius’. T and U proved them-selves to be the correct letters. The letterA was right.

With this start on the alphabet, TheShadow had passed the final obstacle. Hishands, moving with amazing swiftness,seized a fresh sheet of paper; the pencilinscribed the photostatic message in bro-ken form.

WHEN he had completed this, TheShadow was prompt in his deciphering ofthe message. On a new piece of paper, hishand wrote out the final solution:

THE REPRESENTATIVE OF A BRIT-ISH SYNDICATE IS RETURNING TOLONDON ON THE STEAMSHIPMAURITIUS WITH RARE PAINTINGS

VALUED AT ONE MILLION DOL-LARS I AM GOING BACK TO EU-ROPE BY THE SAME SHIP THE MANWE SEEK WILL HAVE THE PAINT-INGS IN HIS CABIN UNGUARDEDINFORM ME HOW TO PASS HISNAME TO THOSE WHO WILL BEREADY

The Shadow laughed. He could see theworkings of a hidden chain. This messagehad been sent to Professor LangwoodDevine, who in turn had sent it along tosome one else. The request must havereached some person who could aid. Areply would therefore have come backalong the line.

Yet no coded letters had been deliveredto Professor Devine’s empty box at theHotel Salamanca. The Shadow, in twonights that had followed his visit to JoeCardona, had made cleverly-faked long dis-tance calls from Chicago, pretending to be

proper pair, he wrote the letters that heknew they must represent. His finished taskappeared

That done, The Shadow broke the sym-bols in his own fashion. He wrote them inrevised form; in the spaces between each

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Mynheer Hansel Vaart. Cardona, assuredof the Hollander’s sincere interest in solv-ing the troublesome code, would certainlyhave mentioned it if new messages hadbeen gained.

The Shadow realized that the chain ofcrime-workers had closed. The gap madeby Devine’s death had been bridged. TheShadow also saw that crooks would not beintimidated because of Devine’s elimina-tion. The message had gone through.Cardona had suppressed the news regard-ing his finding of the codes.

Some hidden crook had make a fatal mis-take by referring to himself as “I” in themessage that he had forwarded through theband. That was not all. He had left a clueto his identity in this genuine message.

I am going back to Europe-

That signified that the crook had come fromEurope. He had not come from England;for he refereed to a potential victim whowas returning to that land. The Shadowdivined that the author of the plot to stealthe valued paintings must be a foreigner;while the man whom he intended to pointout would be an Englishman.

The Shadow’s hand began a methodicalinscription. It was tabulating the alphabet.Letters J, Q, X and Z were missing in thetranslated message; noting a formula, TheShadow promptly supplied the first threeand added a possible Z; finally, the symbolthat signified a space:

A weird laugh broke through the sanc-tum as the bluish light went out. Paperrustled in the darkness. Strident echoesshivered back their response to TheShadow’s burst of mirthful triumph.

The Shadow’s task was ended. He hadgained the cipher that he needed. He hadsolved one of the most unique methods of

cryptic writing that had ever been devised.Spaces, not the solid symbols between

them, had told the final story. Through longhours of ceaseless activity, The Shadow haddiscovered the secret method of writingoriginally devised by Barton Talbor-the sys-tem which the crafty old crook believed tobe invulnerable.

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York and Liverpool.Most of the passengers were men. The

total list was less than two hundred. Thelow rates offered on this slow liner wereattractive to persons who valued moneymore than time. The Mauritius was a one-class ship; the logical meeting place for itsmale passengers was the smoking salon.

A young man was seated in this remod-eled section of the ship. He was one of afew dozen who had chosen not to remainon deck. As he read a book, this clean-cutchap occasionally surveyed the occupantsof the salon, by directing well-gaugedglances over the top of his book.

This passenger was Harry Vincent. Anagent of The Shadow, Harry Vincent hadreceived new instructions through RutledgeMann. These had included ticket and state-room reservation on the Mauritius.

Harry knew that The Shadow was alsoaboard. His chief was engaged in an im-portant search. It was Harry’s task to aid.Here, in the smoking room, the agent hadopportunity for observing various passen-gers.

Mann had come to the boat to see Harryoff. He had passed the agent an envelopewhich Mann had received at his club,shortly before sailing time. This had givenHarry new information. He was to watchall foreigners other than Englishmen.

This was not a difficult task. Harry hadalready noted that the majority of the pas-sengers in the smoking salon were eitherEnglish or American. He saw two menwhom he took for Swedes or Norwegians;he observed another who might be a

Stillness reigned in The Shadow’s sanc-tum. Hollow, soundless blackness an-nounced the departure of the master whoinhabited this strange abode. The Shadowhad departed to deal with crime. With him,ready for future use, he was carrying thedeciphered code of Crime Incorporated!

Dusk lay over Manhattan, as a glidingfigure of blackness moved westward alonga narrow street. Evening was approach-ing, bringing a night that was to prove event-ful. For at ten o’clock this evening, theSteamship Mauritius was scheduled to sailfrom its North River pier.

Criminals-potential murderers-would beaboard that liner. Their sole purpose wouldbe to rob and kill a helpless victim. Butcrooks, alone, would not be on the scene.

The Shadow, master of vengeance wouldbe aboard the Steamship Mauritius, readyto thwart the evil scheme of which he, too,had learned!

CHAPTER XVIII.

OUTSIDE THE HARBOR.

IT WAS NEARING MIDNIGHT. TheSteamship Mauritius had passed the

lower harbor, outward bound. The liner wasploughing at a slow but steady pace as itpushed through the calm sea near theseven-mile limit.

The Mauritius was an antiquated tub thathad left the ways back in the late nineties.A fine ship in its day, the old boat had stoodthe test of time. Renovated and equippedwith new motors, it still plied between New

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Frenchman.The latter had caught Harry’s final at-

tention. The man was puffing at a ciga-rette; it was the third that he had lighted inten minutes. He had paid one visit to thebar; at present, he was seated at a cardtable in the corner, playing solitaire.

As Harry continued his intermittent vigil,he saw the Frenchman pack the cards intheir case. Thrusting the case into a spacebetween the table and the wall of the sa-lon, the man walked over and introducedhimself to three Americans who were look-ing for a fourth player in a game of bridge.

Harry heard the man introduce himselfas Raoul Darchonne. The Americansclapped him on the back and congratulatedhim upon his remarkable moniker. Theycalled him “Monsieur” and the Frenchmansmiled beneath his pointed mustache. Harryobserved at once that the man spoke per-fect English and understood the Americanconception of a joke.

The bridge game began. Harry watchedit occasionally, but he also kept looking to-ward the door of the smoking salon. Hesaw an American enter. The man was aheavy, bluff-faced fellow who had the buildof a football coach. This man looked aboutthe salon in a casual way. He finally strolledover to the table where the Frenchman hadbeen playing solitaire.

There, he picked up the pack that he foundbetween table and wall. He deliberatelyopened the case and started to deal cardsone by one. A dozen cards fell face up, inrotation; with a shrug of his shoulders, thebig fellow gathered up the pack, replaced

it in its case and tossed the whole on thetable. He arose and strolled from the smok-ing salon.

Harry Vincent pondered. He had beeninstructed to watch for contact betweenstrangers, particularly any such action thatseemed unusual. To Harry, the episode ofthe card case appeared more importantthan the Frenchman’s act of joining thebridge game.

The card players had finished a hand.One of the Americans was calling fordrinks. No steward was close by; theAmerican arose and waved the others alongwith him to the bar. Raoul Darchonne fol-lowed.

This was Harry’s opportunity. Droppinghis book, The Shadow’s agent arose andmoved toward the table where the cardcase lay in view. He picked up the desiredobject; then turned and went out on thedeck.

Reaching a companionway, Harry de-scended. He arrived at his own stateroom.He entered, drew a fountain pen from hispocket and inscribed a brief note that heput in an envelope. He left this with thecard case on the writing table. When Harryleft the stateroom to go up to the smokingcabin, he did not lock the door.

This would be a signal to The Shadow.That door, unlocked, was the word thatHarry had left a message. This was in ac-cordance with the final instructions thatHarry had received from Mann.

FIVE scant minutes passed after Harry

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had left his cabin. A figure appeared in thepassage. It was The Shadow, garbed as anordinary passenger. The Shadow openedthe door and entered Harry’s room.

A single light was burning on the tablewhere the card case lay. The Shadowseemed a vague shape as he approached.His white hands showed beneath the light;the gem on his left third finger gleamed withsparkling flashes.

The Shadow opened Harry’s note. Heread a terse, coded message that explainedwhat had happened in the smoking salon.The writing faded; The Shadow let the blankpaper slide into a wastebasket. His fingersopened the card case.

Harry had described the exact actionsof the heavy-built American. The Shadowknew that the cards had been gathered asthey had been dealt, one by one, TheShadow let the pasteboards fall faces upupon the table.

Ten of diamonds; five of spades; six ofhearts; queen of clubs; five of clubs; queenof diamonds-

The Shadow stopped, holding the nextcard face up. It was a black card; the du-plicate of one that he had already dealt. Inhis hand, The Shadow was clutching a sec-ond five of spades!

The thrumming pound of the liner’s en-gines was the dull sound that formed aninterlude while The Shadow’s hands re-mained motionless. Then came a soft, whis-pered laugh as The Shadow dropped theduplicate card upon the table.

While his left hand held the pack, TheShadow’s right produced a pen and wrote

on paper with a bluish ink. The Shadowhad discerned the reason for this extra cardin the pack.

One agent of crime had arranged to password to the other. That message could bebut one thing-the name of the man aboardthis ship whose cabin held its million dol-lars worth of paintings.

Each suit in the pack of cards consistedof thirteen values. Inasmuch as there weretwenty-six letters in the alphabet, it wasplain to The Shadow that one color-sayblacks-would give letters from A to M in-clusive; while the other color would tell let-ters from N to Z.

Taking the blacks as the first thirteen, thereds as the last, The Shadow transcribedthe letters as he read them. Ten of dia-monds, W; five of spades, E; six of hearts,S; queen of clubs, L; five of clubs, E; queenof diamonds, Y.

The cards spelled the name Wesley. Theduplicate five of spades was an E, startingthe second name. The Shadow continuedthe deal; after the five of clubs came thequeen of spades. the jack of spades, thenine of clubs, the ace of hearts.

The last name was Elkin. The Shadowknew the identity of the man whose lifewas at stake. Skulking crooks were layinglow; The Shadow had not encountered themin his extended journey through the ship.They would soon be on the move; for theyknew their quarry. The Frenchman, RaoulDarchonne, was the man who had sent themessage along the chain. The husky Ameri-can was another man of crime; the one whohad agreed to follow Darchonne’s tip.

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The Shadow moved from the stateroom.He ascended a flight of deserted stairs andstopped outside the closed window of thepurser’s office. The passenger list had beenposted. The Shadow saw it behind a glassframe. He spied the name of Wesley Elkin.The stateroom number was 128.

The Shadow descended the steps andarrived at Harry’s cabin. From beneath aberth, he drew out a flat black bag. Heopened it; the folds of the black cloak cameinto view. Then the slouch hat; donning thegarments, The Shadow plucked a brace ofautomatics from the bag.

UP in the smoking salon, Harry Vincenthad picked up his book. He read the vol-ume a while; then laid it down and strolledtoward the deck. Raoul Darchonne fol-lowed him with a steady gaze. The French-man had suddenly lost interest in the gameof bridge.

Prepared to establish an alibi, while oth-ers did their work, this crook had found atask for himself. Coming back from the bar,he had noted the absence of the card case.He had seen Harry Vincent return to thechair where the book was lying.

Harry Vincent was on his way to hiscabin, to find if his message had been de-livered. Raoul Darchonne, excusing him-self from the game, arose and started onHarry’s trail. A conflict between them wasimpending.

For The Shadow, at that moment, wasgliding from the door of Harry’s stateroom.Armed for combat, the black-garbed mas-ter was starting toward the spot where

danger lurked. His goal lay on the oppositeside of the ship.

Aft the walls of the engine room, onedeck below on the starboard side of theliner-such was the location of stateroom128. Past the stairway, then to a bulkheadbeyond; there The Shadow would reach thecompanion way that led to the lower deck.

Like a living phantom, The Shadowreached the bulkhead. He stopped as heneared a darkened spot. Enshrouded ingloom, The Shadow turned to peer backalong the path that he had followed.

A figure appeared beyond the stairway.It was Harry Vincent, returning to his cabin.The Shadow watched, guided by some keenintuition. A crouching man came into view,following Harry Vincent’s path.

One glimpse of the sallow, mustachedface told The Shadow that this must be theFrenchman whom Harry had named asRaoul Darchonne. The crafty crook wason the trail of The Shadow’s agent.

A shape emerged from the blackness bythe bulkhead. Though time pressed, thoughcrime was in the making, The Shadow wasreturning toward Harry’s stateroom. Thelife of his agent was at stake. The menaceof Raoul Darchonne must be eliminatedbefore The Shadow could proceed to state-room 128.

CHAPTER XIX.

SHOTS ON BOARD.

GRIM COMPLICATIONS WEREcombining aboard the Steamship

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Mauritius. While the broad-beamed linerwas pounding steadily seaward, passengersaboard it were setting the stage for star-tling events.

The Shadow, planning a lone battleagainst crime, had gauged the situation. Heknew that Wesley Elkin, traveling as anordinary passenger on this slow ship, wasprobably secure in the belief that no onesuspected the value of the secret cargo inhis stateroom.

During his tour of inspection throughmany passages, accomplished prior toHarry Vincent’s discovery of RaoulDarchonne, The Shadow had noted vari-ous persons and their actions. Among thosewhom he observed leaving staterooms wasthe man who occupied 128.

The way was clear for crime; and TheShadow knew that it would be carriedthrough by stealth. A search of Elkin’sstateroom; the removal of the valuablepaintings-these deeds would require time.Such action might already be under way;yet a delay in arrival would not defeat TheShadow’s cause. There was time to takecare of the predicament which HarryVincent faced.

PROOF of The Shadow’s accurate cal-culation lay in stateroom 128. The door ofthat cabin was ajar. Within the lighted room,three men were at work. Elkin’s cabin wasa spacious one. It contained three ward-robe trunks. These had been opened by thetrio. Upon the floor lay long metal tubes,each the container of a valuable portrait.

From behind the drawers of the ward-

robe trunks, the riflers had brought framedcanvases. The trunk had been speciallyprepared to hold the paintings. The spoilsof crime-nine framed paintings and a dozenmore in tubes-were being gathered for re-moval.

At the door, keeping the barrier almostclosed, stood the husky American whomHarry Vincent had seen in the smokingsalon. He was the leader of the trio. Hishard eyes watched the workers. Thencame a change upon his countenance. Heraised a warning hand and hissed an order.

The riflers moved to the wall of the state-room. Carefully, their leader peered throughthe crack of the door; then closed the bar-rier. He looked about and saw that his menhad ducked from sight. He stepped forwardand crouched beyond the central wardrobetrunk.

He was just in time. The door of state-room 128 was opening. A moment later, aheavy, bluff-faced Englishman stepped intothe room. Consternation showed upon hismiddle-aged visage. Wesley Elkin had re-turned unexpectedly to his stateroom, tofind the door unlocked. Entering, he stoodin amazement as he saw the wide opentrunks and his treasures, stacked upon thefloor.

Elkin backed toward the door. His thoughtwas to sound an alarm. He did not gain theopportunity. A man’s head and shouldersbobbed above the central trunk. A harshvoice commanded Elkin to halt. A revolverglistened in the hand that showed atop thetrunk.

“Close the door,” ordered the leader of

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the crooks.Mechanically, Elkin obeyed. Unarmed,

relying solely upon the belief that no oneknew of his art treasures, Elkin was help-less. He faced the muzzle of the revolver.

“Don’t make any trouble,” growled thechief crook. “It will be too bad for you ifyou do.”

“Who-who are you?” stammered Elkin.“Let me introduce myself,” scoffed the

man with the gun, as he stepped from be-hind the trunk. “They call me RichardGlade. That is the name which I employwhen I resort to crime. These gentlemen”-he waved his free hand toward the side ofthe cabin-”are my gang.”

Glade’s two cronies stepped into view.Each man held a revolver. Glade pocketedhis own weapon while his minions coveredElkin.

“Passengers aboard the Mauritius,”scoffed Glade, again indicating his men.“All except myself. I merely came aboardto superintend their work. Our purpose, asyou see, is to remove the paintings that youare taking to England.

“Your plan was rather clever, Elkin. Trav-eling as the obscure representative of alarge British syndicate, you thought it bestto bring back these art treasures in a veryinconspicuous fashion. Your plan, however,has failed. You cannot save your valuables;but you still have the opportunity to keepyour life. I advise you to do nothing fool-ish.”

Glade motioned the Englishman towardthe inner end of the stateroom. Weakly,Elkin backed against a port hole and stood

with arms upraised. Glade spoke to his men.“You keep him covered, Hank,” ordered

the crook. “Come on, Terry, we’ll move theswag. The boys are waiting.”

Opening the door of the stateroom, Gladegave a low hiss. Two men appearedpromptly from a passage just beyond thestateroom. It was an opening that led di-rectly to the lower deck-the most desertedspot aboard the ship.

AT the same time, a door opened in astateroom across the passage. Another pairof huskies stepped into view. As Glade andTerry bundled up a load of paintings andleft the doorway marked 128, a second pairof men came in to gain a similar burden.

Glade and Terry reached the deck. Fourbox-like trunks were set there, forming ahuge cube. These burdens had been broughtfrom cabins. Loaded on as ordinary lug-gage, emptied of their original contents, thefour containers made a massive block.

While Glade and his companions wereloading their stolen goods into one of thetrunks, the next pair of men arrived withtheir burden. Glade yanked open the tight-fitting front of a second trunk, to admit thenext supply of paintings. He then turned toa small box that lay on the deck. He un-coiled a length of wire, one end of whichwas fastened to the little box. He fixed thefree end to the handle of a trunk.

Within his stateroom, Wesley Elkin wasstanding backed against the port hole.Hands still upward, the Englishman waswatching the third pair of crooks as theygathered up the final spoils. Hank still held

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his quarry helpless. Elkin could not movewhile the revolver muzzle covered him. Yeta look of determination was creeping overthe Englishman’s face.

SIMILARLY, in a cabin one deck above,a man was standing covered by a gun.Harry Vincent, trapped in his stateroom,was staring into a shining barrel held byRaoul Darchonne. Harry had left the doorof his stateroom unlocked. The Frenchmanhad stealthily followed his into the cabin.

In a low, snarling voice, Darchonne wasbaiting the man whom he had surprised.Darchonne was demanding information. Hewanted to know what Harry Vincent hadlearned regarding crime aboard ship.

Tensely, Harry was facing his captor.Harry knew that Darchonne would not riska shot while plans were still in the making,unless Harry, himself, committed the follyof an attack.

Silent, The Shadow’s agent refused toreply to Darchonne’s questions. Staringstraight toward the snarling Frenchman,Harry maintained an expressionless gazeas he saw the door of the stateroom open-ing.

The Shadow!Harry knew that his chief had returned.

Darchonne’s form obscured the center ofthe door. The only manifestations of TheShadow’s arrival were the motion of thedoor and the blackness that seemed tocreep forward as the barrier closed.

“Come on!” Darchonne’s tone showedsuppressed fury. “Speak! I’ll give you fiveseconds longer!”

Darchonne was half crouched. His leftfist was clenched in front of him. His rightheld the gun close to his body. A mass ofshrouding blackness loomed behind theFrenchman. Burning eyes showed aboveDarchonne’s head. Then, like living ten-tacles of darkness, a pair of arms camewinging in from either side. A grip, as firmas it was swift, caught Darchonne’s formand pinioned the Frenchman’s arms.

The Shadow had stooped speedily. Hisobscured form shot backward with a pow-erful snap. To Harry’s staring eyes,Darchonne’s body seemed to act of its ownaccord. The Frenchman’s feet shot upward.His body flew to a horizontal position in mid-air. Then, as The Shadow released a down-ward swing, Darchonne came smashing flatupon the floor.

The Frenchman lay stunned beforeHarry’s eyes. His arms spread. His re-volver went bounding sidewise across thefloor. Looking up to the spot whereDarchonne had stood, Harry saw the swish-ing folds of The Shadow’s cloak, as itswearer whirled toward the stateroom door.A whispered laugh was The Shadow’s to-ken. It came as the master-fighter openedthe door. Then Harry’s rescuer reached thepassage. The door closed, leaving Harrysafe and Raoul Darchonne helpless.

MEANWHILE, the last pair of burdencarriers had left stateroom 128. FacingHank, Wesley Elkin stood with twitchinghands. The Englishman was desperate. Hewas barely managing to restrain himself,despite the threat of the looming revolver.

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The door opened. It was Richard Glade.The chief crook did not enter. He gave ahiss toward Hank; the minion shot a glancetoward the door. He nodded as he heardGlade’s whisper. The door closed. Hankapproached closer to Wesley Elkin.

The Englishman sensed the verdict.Though he had not heard Glade’s whisper,he had caught the involuntary gesture of adownward pointed thumb. Glade had or-dered Hank to hold his prisoner a few min-utes longer-then to kill.

Hank was but a few feet away; Elkinknew why. When ready for the shot, therogue would jam the gun forward, to mufflethe shot against his victim’s body. Elkinshifted as though his arms were weary;then, with a sudden spring, he launched him-self upon his captor.

The act caught Hank off guard. With asweeping clutch, Elkin caught the fellow’swrist. As he grappled with his captor, Elkintwisted. The revolver clattered to the floor.Hank, writhing in pain, wrenched himselffree. Then, as Elkin pounced upon him,Hank met the attack with powerful force,he flung Elkin toward a wardrobe trunk.

The Englishman slipped. His head struckthe edge of the trunk. His slumping bodyyielded. Wesley Elkin rolled unconscious tothe floor. Luck had come to Hank. The vil-lain pounced to the floor and grabbed hisgun.

Elkin had received a heavy blow. Theman was out; it was plain that he wouldnot recover consciousness for some timeto come. Holding his revolver, Hank grinnedas he leaned toward the slumped form and

shoved the gun muzzle directly aboveElkin’s heart. His finger was on the trigger,it was a sound from the door that preventedHank from firing the fatal shot.

Thinking that Richard Glade had returned,Hank turned. The door was open. There,framed in the gloom of the corridor was ablack-cloaked figure. Hank, a product ofNew York’s gangland, recognized the awe-inspiring shape.

“The Shadow!”Hank gasped the name as he swung in

desperation. He aimed his revolver squarelytoward the door. Before Hank could pressthe trigger of the gun, a burst of flame camefrom an automatic wielded by a black-gloved fist. Hank sprawled upon the state-room floor.

OUT on deck, Richard Glade heard thereport. An oath came from the chiefcrook’s lips as he stepped back from thetrunk in which he had stowed the final paint-ings. Glade turned to two of his men.

“Back in there!” he snarled. “See whatthat boob Hank has done! I told him to holdthat shot!”

Two ruffians dashed into the ship. Theyreached the end of the passage outside of128. The Shadow, just within the stateroomdoor, heard their footsteps. With a back-ward swing, the black-garbed warriorswerved into the passage.

Glade’s henchmen were holding drawnguns. They stopped short as they saw theblackened shape which confronted them.The burning eyes of the Shadow were orbsof fearful vengeance. As one man

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scrambled wildly back toward the openingto the dock, his companion fired at TheShadow.

The man’s Shot, delivered from a risinggun, was wild. The rogue never gained achance to deliver a second bullet. TheShadow’s response halted the ruffian’s ris-ing aim. Tongued flame came from amighty automatic.

The crook crumpled. The second ofGlade’s henchmen had failed. His body, likeHank’s, lay motionless upon the floor. TheShadow was moving swiftly forward, pastthe man whom he had downed.

For The Shadow knew the route thatcrooks had taken. He had seen the chaosin Elkin’s rifled cabin. He knew that thepaintings had been carried from 128. Hisopportunity still existed.

Alone, the Shadow was after desperatemen. Warned by the crook who had fledback to the deck, they would be preparedfor battle. A chilling laugh came echoingfrom The Shadow’s lips. One against five,the Shadow was ready for the fray!

CHAPTER XX.

SPOILS OF BATTLE.

THE SHADOW’S FIRST SHOT hadalarmed Richard Glade, the white-shirt

leader of a mobster crew. The Shadow’ssecond burst, coupled with the report fromthe revolver of his victim, had roused theship.

Echoing through the long passage, theshots had carried with surprising loudness.

Above the throbbing of the liner’s pound-ing engines came shouts raised by thosewho had heard the gunfire.

Harry Vincent was listening at the doorof his stateroom. In his right hand, Harrywas holding Raoul Darchonne’s gun. TheFrenchman still lay senseless on the floor.As he harkened, Harry could hear the af-termath of The Shadow’s first skirmish.Scurrying footsteps sounded past the stair-way.

Another man was listening to the noisesthat came through the stateroom door.Raoul Darchonne, suddenly reviving, hadrisen to hands and knees. Blinking, theFrenchman saw Harry Vincent staring outinto the passage.

With surprising recovery, Darchonnearose and crept forward. Then, with a sud-den leap, he precipitated himself toward theman at the door. Harry Vincent swung justin time to meet him. Turning at the soundof Darchonne’s approach, the Shadow’sagent met the Frenchman just within thedoor.

Before Harry had a chance to fire,Darchonne delivered a clip to his chin.Harry staggered across the stateroom. Hecaught himself against the writing table.Darchonne’s intended knock-out had failed.The Frenchman, however, had gained abreak. Before Harry could cover him withthe revolver, Darchonne yanked open thedoor and reached the passage.

As Darchonne rounded the corner to thestairs, he ran squarely into a steward whohad come from above. The man was hold-ing a revolver. Darchonne pounced forward

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and swung a heavy fist. The stewardcrumpled. Darchonne seized the gun thatfell from his hand.

Continuing onward, the Frenchman spedtoward the companion way that would takehim to 128. Knowing that his part in crimehad been discovered, Darchonne sought tojoin the other rogues aboard the steamship.

Meanwhile, events were happening be-low. Glade and his men had gained theirwarning from the crook who had fled tothe deck. Glade had ordered two of his mento guard the side passage. With Terry andanother, the chief crook was hoisting thefour-blocked trunks to the rail.

Shouts continued. People aboard had notlocated the source of the trouble; yet Gladeknew that time was short. Bracing thetrunks against a post that extended abovethe rail, Glade snarled an order to his men.

“Get him!” Glade’s words were fero-cious. “There’s four of you! Get him! It’syour only out!”

The crooks understood. The ship was ina furore. They were in for desperatetrouble, even without The Shadow. His pres-ence made their plight hopeless. As Gladepoised the large, but light trunks, the twomen who stood beside him leaped to jointhe pair at the passage.

THE SHADOW had been waiting. Hehad known that an attack must come. Hewas in the passage by Elkin’s stateroom.Already, he could hear shouts at the fur-ther turn. He had deliberately waited, inorder to bait Glade’s men to an attack. Hecould linger no longer.

Brandishing an automatic in each hand,

The Shadow sprang to the passage that ledon deck. He arrived there, just as the firstpair of crooks were lunging inward. Flash-ing revolvers were in readiness. Fingerswere pressing triggers.

It was a matter of split-seconds. Theseminions of crime were prepared for TheShadow’s thrust; the master fighter, in turn,was ready for them. Thin-gloved forefin-gers were on the triggers of the automat-ics.

Three shots crashed within the little pas-sage. Two came from The Shadow’s guns.The third, an instant later, was from acrook’s revolver. The second of Glade’shenchmen never fired.

Fired at five-foot range, The Shadow’sbullets had found their mark. Crouching ashe loosed the bullets, The Shadow had burnta leaden slug into each lunging form be-fore him.

One crook had fired also, almost at themoment when he staggered. His bullet,sped toward a dropping shape, whistledthrough the upturned collar of TheShadow’s cloak, barely singeing the hiddenface within.

The Shadow’s form came up asgunmen’s bodies slumped. A terrifyinglaugh burst from The Shadow’s lips. Spring-ing forward, this fierce fighter was on hisway to deal with men outside. At the doorto the deck, The Shadow encountered thesecond pair of henchmen.

One automatic jammed against agangster’s jaw. The second gun cameclashing down upon the other fellow’s wrist.As the first mobster sprawled, The Shadow

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seized the second to drag him back into thepassage. This man was Terry.

There was strategy in the Shadow’s oddattack. He did not know the numbers ofhis foemen. Disposing of one, he hadgrabbed the other’s body as a shield. Themove was wise.

Standing against the braced trunks, Ri-chard Glade was holding a revolver. He wasready to down The Shadow if his minionsfailed. While The Shadow grappled withTerry, Glade could find no mark at whichto aim.

All that Glade could see was a lungingform-Terry’s-as it swayed like a dummyfigure in The Shadow’s clutch. Then, frombeneath Terry’s arm, came the flame of anautomatic. The shot was loosed towardGlade; only a slump of Terry’s body spoiledits direction. The Shadow’s bullet clipped acorner of a trunk beside Glade’s ear.

Wild shouts from within the ship. Gladehesitated no longer. Turning, the chief crooklunged upward against the trunks. Theblocked boxes toppled outward into theocean. Gripping the pillar, Glade launchedhimself forward into the water below.

His leap was just in time. The Shadowhad hurled Terry helpless across the deck.With one fierce spring, he too, reached therail. He turned as he gripped the pillar. Hisblack form, outlined against clouded moon-light, formed a spectral target for a manwho was leaping out from the passage.

IT was Raoul Darchonne. Wielding thesteward’s revolver, the Frenchman aimedfor the figure that he saw upon the rail. As

Darchonne fired, an answering blast camefrom the blackened shape. It was the finalshot from The Shadow’s left hand auto-matic.

Then came the amazing climax. AsDarchonne clumped heavily to the deck, avenomous groan came from his lips. Hiseyes, bulging downward, did not see whathappened to The Shadow, although his earsheard a strange, outlandish sound.

With Darchonne’s shot, The Shadow’sfigure hovered outward. As though timedto the slight swell of the sea below, theblack-garbed figure lost its hold upon thepost beside the rail. Outward, in a weird,spreading dive, The Shadow curved headforemost into the deep.

A trailing laugh, fading like a weird re-minder of his prowess, was the sound thatmarked The Shadow’s departure over-board. The throb of the ship, the shouts ofarriving men-these drowned any sound ofthe splash that must have followed.

With dying eyes, Raoul Darchonnelooked upward. Flat upon the deck, the in-sidious Frenchman glimpsed the post whereThe Shadow had been. He recalled theblack-garbed shape at which he had fired.He remembered that it had loomed, tall andbulky, upon the rail. That shape was gone.

Men were raising Darchonne’s body.Their excited voices were loud upon thedeck. But Raoul Darchonne did not hearthem. The triumphant grin that had formedupon his evil lips was an expression fixedby death.

Raoul Darchonne had died without amurmur. His passing thought had been a

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flash of evil victory; the realization that hehad gained a chance to deliver death to theenemy whose bullet had spelled curtainsfor himself.

Passengers and members of the crewhad arrived upon the deck. Terry and hisgangster pal were overpowered beforethey could put up a groggy fight.Darchonne’s body was carried into the ship,along with those of the two gangsters inthe passage.

A cry marked the discovery of chaos in128. Hank’s body was found dead upon thefloor. Wesley Elkin, still unconscious fromthe gash aside his head, was carried to theship’s hospital.

THE Mauritius was plodding onward ata twelve knot speed through the easy, ris-ing swell. Certain of the passengers man-aged to remain upon the deck where strifehad been rampant. Among them was HarryVincent. The Shadow’s agent wore a facethat was glum and solemn.

There had been no cry of man overboard.Yet Richard Glade-whom Harry knew onlyas the leader of the crooks-was missing.Moreover-and this was the factor that leftHarry morose-there was no sign of TheShadow.

People had arrived from all directions, lessthan a half minute after the final shots.Harry had been among the first. He wassure that he, at least, would have spied TheShadow.

Harry felt helpless aboard this movingboat. He could not order the stopping ofthe ship. That might prove the worst step

possible, for it would connect Harry-agentof The Shadow- with the ended battle.Harry could only hope that The Shadowwas still on board. Yet Harry was grippedby a terrible belief that The Shadow hadgone over the vessel’s side.

Moving toward the rail, Harry notedscarred marks along the top. The same in-dications showed upon the post. Thesewere the marks made by the blocked trunksthat Richard Glade had followed overboard.

Higher, Harry found another mark thatmade his face turn grim. It was the longnick of a bullet that had skimmed the edgeof the supporting post. Instinctively, Harryknew that The Shadow had been the tar-get for that shot.

Sadly, The Shadow’s agent went inboard.He appeared later, upon a high rear deck.Looking backward, Harry viewed theswelling ocean, streaked with shadowyblackness from the clouds that dimmed thestruggling moon.

No speck was visible upon the surface.The ship had traveled several miles sincethe conflict had ended on the lower deck.Again, Harry sought surcease of melan-choly in the hope that The Shadow hadmiraculously gained some hidden spotwithin the boat.

FAR back on the horizon which HarryVincent had viewed, a cubical float wasbobbing in the easy swell. Glade’s fourtrunks, water-tight with their precious spoilsinside, were no longer within sight of theMauritius.

Clinging to one side of his well-formed

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buoy, Glade was drawing up the little boxthat bobbed at the end of the connectingwire. The moonlight showed a pleased grinon the crook’s dripping face. Peering out-ward from a rising swell, Glade could nolonger see the distant lights of the Steam-ship Mauritius.

The man’s gaze turned first to one side,then to the other, timed by the periods whenthe floating trunks were raised by the sea’smotion. Off to the right, almost parallel withhis position, he spied the object of his search.It was the low, flat hulk of a moving boat.

Glade wrenched at the covers of the littlebox. The water-tight lid came off; the boxrested on top of the trunks. Glade drew fortha tapered object. A click sounded from hishand. With the hiss of a Roman candle, aflare splashed a deluge of crimson flamefrom the crook’s hand.

Almost immediately, sparkles glimmeredfrom the moving boat. The beam of asearchlight came now, across the water.As the buoy neared the high point of an-other swell, Glade set off a second flare.This time, the searchlight’s rays picked upthe floating trunks.

Lights formed a moving circle on thewater as the purr of a motor sounded acrossthe space between the boat and Glade’simprovised buoy. The eye of the search-light wavered, but again picked its mark.Glade was on the near side of the trunks,waving one arm as a signal.

The boat slowed as it came alongside thetrunks. It was a trim motor launch; lightsaboard showed three men leaning over theside. A line splashed in the water. Glade

seized it; willing arms drew the boxes tothe side of the thirty-five-foot craft.

Glade grabbed the side. He was hoistedaboard. Two men caught the ropes thatbound the trunks. The burden came up eas-ily until it was halfway out of the water;then the men levered it on the motorboat’sside. Glade and the other man joined it. Witha yank, they tumbled the resisting burdendown into the cockpit.

“Head for port,” puffed Glade. “There’sno more to do-”

A sudden sound froze the words on thecrook’s lips. A weird echo had broken atthe side of the boat; from the very spotwhere the trunks had stopped on their wayaboard. Glade leaped up as the sound brokeinto the tones of a chilling laugh.

Revealed by the glimmering lights aboardthe launch was a looming figure in black,poised upon the side. Like a spirit of ven-geance from the deep, The Shadow hadcome to settle scores with Richard Glade!

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SUMMONS.

TO THE THREE MEN WHO mannedthe boat that had rescued Richard

Glade, the appearance of The Shadow wasunexplainable. To Glade, himself, the an-swer to the riddle came with drummingrealism.

Glade knew that this amazing enemy musthave followed him overboard; that TheShadow had easily spied the bobbing trunksand had clung to the side of the buoy oppo-

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site Glade himself.Glade had been on the near side of the

trunks when the searchlight had playedupon them. When the trunks were hauledaboard the launch, The Shadow had divedunder them. The resistance of the trunks,when they balanced on the side of the boat,had been due, in part, to The Shadow’sadded weight.

Glade had no weapons. He had droppedhis revolver when he had plunged from theMauritius. He did not realize that TheShadow, too, was weaponless. Plunging tosafety when Raoul Darchonne’s shotnicked the pillar beside him, The Shadowhad let his automatics go.

His weird, vengeful laugh, delivered to-ward Glade and the crew of the launch,was an act of important purpose. Glade’sthree companions were rooted as theyviewed this brine-dripped shape halfcrouched upon the side. Against the dullishsky, The Shadow’s cloaked shape seemedbulky and formidable as it rose upward withlong, spreading arms.

One man acted. That was exactly whatThe Shadow wanted. Hand to pocket, thestartled member of the crew began to yanka gun. The deed marked him as TheShadow’s first antagonist. The black formplunged forward into the cockpit, landingsquarely upon the hapless victim.

As the fellow dropped, another manfumbled for a gun while the third dived intoa low cabin at the front of the cockpit. TheShadow, swinging up from his first victim,delivered a sweeping blow that sent thesecond man sprawling against the side. A

gun clattered from the fellow’s hand. Itlanded at the feet of Richard Glade.

Desperately, the crook pounced to clutchthe weapon. He would never have reachedit had it not been for the unexpected inter-vention of the third member of the crew.As The Shadow swung toward Glade, theman who had dived for safety came lurch-ing from the cabin, swinging the huge crankhandle of the motor.

BEFORE The Shadow could stay thestroke, the husky man brought the metalbar forward with a mighty swing. It passedbeneath The Shadow’s rising arm. With acrackling thud of rib-breaking force, thehandle smashed against The Shadow’s sideand sent his tall form sprawling toward thestern.

Glade had gained the gun. He fired lateat the falling form in black. Once-twice—his hand paused for a certain aim as TheShadow’s body slumped in the rear of thecockpit! As Glade’s gloating lips oathed theirtriumph, as his finger rested on the triggerof his gun, The Shadow’s hand swung up-ward.

A twist of the wrist; the glitter of the re-volver which The Shadow still clutchedsafely-these came almost simultaneouslywith a rapid shot. Aiming fast while Gladesteadied, the black-garbed fighter beat thesnarling crook to the all-important shot.

Glade never pressed a trigger again. Hisform crumpled. The revolver left his hand.He had thought The Shadow incapable ofmeeting his attack. Yet The Shadow, de-spite the terrific impact of the flying crank

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handle, had delivered the needed stroke.Two men were lying half-unconscious in

the cockpit. The third, the big fellow withthe crank handle, was staring into themuzzle of The Shadow’s revolver. Beforehim lay the huddled form of Richard Glade.The crook had received The Shadow’sbullet through the heart.

The Shadow arose. His triumphant laughbroke weirdly above the swell. The manwho had struck him down stood helplessbefore the pointed gun, wondering how anyliving being could have withstood that mightyblow.

“Start the motor.”The hissed command came from The

Shadow’s lips. Backing from the tall, bulkywarrior in black, the man inserted the crankhandle and obeyed The Shadow’s order.Stooped above the motor, he did not seeThe Shadow’s next maneuver.

Spreading his dripping cloak, The Shadowreleased straps that hung across his shoul-ders. The reason for his bulkiness was ex-plained as a thick, sturdy life belt ploppeddown in the cockpit.

The Shadow had anticipated a trip over-board. He had girdled himself with the beltwhen he had donned his black attire inHarry Vincent’s stateroom. The Shadowhad not needed the life belt in the water,for his silent swim to the floating trunks hadbeen a short one; but it had served him ingood stead later on.

Those thick, pleated sections of compactcork had been as effective as armor againstthe hard swing of the crank handle. Theblow had sent The Shadow sprawling. It

had not crippled him.The man at the motor had given up all

thought of resistance. He had drawn thecrank handle from its shaft. Submissively,he tossed his erstwhile weapon back intothe cabin. The Shadow, looming high in therear of the cockpit, was at the tiller.

The other men were coming to theirsenses. Like their fellow, they decided tooffer no attack. The Shadow’s right handkept the revolver in readiness. His hissedtones warned them to stay where theywere.

THE SHADOW had guessed the mettleof these men. They were not gangsters;they were of less dangerous ilk. The launchwas an ex-rum runner; its crew, furtive menwho had eked a living by meeting shipsoutside the twelve-mile limit, to bring con-traband cargo ashore.

Richard Glade had evidently hired themto trail the slow-moving SteamshipMauritius as soon as it had left the harbor.They had been paid their price. They didnot even know the contents of the trunksthat Glade had brought aboard. They werecounting, perhaps, upon a further paymentwhen they landed. That was all.

Cowed by their fear of the strange beingwho had followed Glade aboard, the threemen awaited further orders as The Shadowturned the boat toward the Long Islandshore. They did not know their destination;they could see, however, that the new pilotwas steering for some defined objective.

From each rising swell, The Shadow wasguiding by a distant headland that showed

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black beneath the moonlight. The launch,well-motored, purred rhythmically onward.It neared the shore.

A hissed order. One of the men slowedthe motor. The Shadow piloted the launchbetween two points of land. The lights wereout by his order; the moon provided suffi-cient illumination for The Shadow to watchhis prisoners and to guide the craft as well.

The launch had entered a small cove. Themotor was stopped at The Shadow’s bid-ding. The boat grounded on a level, sandybeach. It swung sidewise, due to a finaltwist of the tiller. Three men arose as TheShadow hissed an order. They pitched thetrunks over the side with the willingness ofseamen ridding themselves of a Jonah.

“A flashlight,” hissed The Shadow.One man produced the required object.

He gingerly extended it toward the beingat the tiller. The Shadow clicked the switch.He blinked a signal beam toward the shore.Thudding footsteps sounded on the sand.

Two men arrived. They were ClydeBurke and Cliff Marsland, agents of TheShadow, who had been stationed herethrough final instructions from Burbank.They hauled the trunks ashore. At sight oftwo new enemies beneath the moonlight,the crew of the launch remained motion-less, even though The Shadow no longerheld his gun.

The Shadow was leaning over the deadform of Richard Glade. He was drawingwater-soaked papers from the crook’spockets. He found a wallet among theseeffects. The rays of the flashlight werefocused steadily upon Glade’s dead face.

A soft laugh rippled from The Shadow’slips as keen eyes took in every feature ofthe dead man’s countenance. The mem-bers of the crew shuddered at the sound.The Shadow picked up the gun that laybeneath Glade’s body. Leaving the crewweaponless, he stepped forward; threemen shuffled aside as he advanced.

The Shadow reached the cabin. Hestepped upon its roof. With a single leap,he gained the shore, where Clyde and Cliffwere standing by the lashed trunks. Themen on the boat, realizing that they werefree, hurriedly started the motor. The formerrum runner chugged in reverse. Its occu-pants were wild in their effort to get awayfrom that spectral shape which stood uponthe shore.

Cliff and Clyde nodded as they heard TheShadow’s whispered command. Theyunlashed the trunks while The Shadow’sfigure faded in the darkness. When theagent brought the first trunk toward a spotwhere each had left a car, they heard onemotor leaving. The Shadow had taken acoupe brought by Cliff. He had left Clyde’ssedan.

The trunks were too large for the sedan.The Shadow’s agents opened them andremoved the contents. They loaded the carand consigned the trunks to the bushes.Clyde took the wheel and headed in thedirection which The Shadow had taken to-ward Manhattan.

Two hours later, a spectral figure enteredan apartment in the nineties. The Shadowhad arrived at the residence of RichardGlade. He had learned the address from

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the dead crook’s papers. Methodically, theinvestigator began a search of the place.

An electric heater, designed in imitationof a coal-grate, was standing in a fire place.Its upper section was filled with chunks ofdarkened glass that looked like lumps ofcoal. With a soft laugh, The Shadowstooped and tipped the heater forward. Thefalse coal came clattering to the hearth.

Lying on the wire screen above the un-used heater was a large envelope. TheShadow ripped it open. He found a stockcertificate labeled Aztec Mines. He founda document inscribed in the blocked codewhich he had deciphered. He found twosmaller envelopes which he opened.

The Shadow’s laugh reechoed softlythrough the room. At intervals, the rever-beration was repeated, while The Shadowstudied the coded by-laws that he had un-covered. At last, the hands of The Shadowappeared, ungloved, beneath a desk lampin the corner of the room.

In Glade’s documents, The Shadow hadlearned the names of the dead crook’s con-tacts. He had also discovered the namesof two men beyond, through the inner en-velopes with their coded messages. He hadalso discovered points of interest regard-ing the working of the chain to which Gladehad belonged.

The Shadow inscribed a message in theblocked code. He added another- a trivialcryptogram with the circled code-to serveas the blind that went with all messagessent through the chain. He folded thesesheets and inserted them in a plain enve-lope that he found in a desk drawer.

The Shadow duplicated the messages andsealed them in a second envelope. He ad-dressed each letter separately. Gatheringenvelopes along with documents, hepressed out the light.

Faint light of dawn showed through thewindow when The Shadow raised theshade. The tinged rays revealed a vagueform of black, making its departure. Thelaugh of The Shadow whispered its forbid-ding chill.

The Shadow’s mirth was again an omen.It was inspired by the letters which thismaster sleuth had prepared. Those codedmessages were to carry news along thechain of evil workers.

There was good cause for The Shadow’slaugh. The master fighter had profitedthrough the death of Richard Glade. Withcraft and with certainty, The Shadow hadissued a summons that Crime Incorporatedwould obey!

CHAPTER XXII.

THE DIVIDEND.

EIGHT DAYS HAD PASSED. An-other night had come to Manhattan.

The lobby of the Hotel Grammont wasablaze with light. This hostelry, for years acentral spot near Broadway, never failedto attract throngs of evening visitors.

A stocky man approached the manager’soffice. He flashed a badge that gave himadmittance. It was Detective Joe Cardona.The star sleuth entered to find two menawaiting him. One was the manager; the

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other a hotel detective.Introductions completed, Cardona stated

his business. He spoke in a manner thatwas gruff, but speculative. Joe had comehere on a doubtful errand. He did not wantit to appear that he might be the victim of ahoax.

“You know what tip-offs are,” explainedthe ace. “We get them right along andchances are they’re phony. Just the same,if they sound like something might be do-ing, we play along to make sure.

“Well, I got a tip-off to-night. I was toldto be in the lobby of this hotel at nineo’clock. What’s more, I was told to have asquad follow me. That’s a big order-whenit comes without anything else-but there’sa reason why I took it up.”

Joe paused for emphasis. He saw doubt-ful looks upon the faces of the men beforehim; and he delivered the statement whichhe had planned for them.

“It was on your account that I camehere,” resumed the ace. “The Grammont’sa big hotel, with lots of people going in andout. Sometimes a tip-off means that onesmart crook is trying to get even with an-other.

“If there’s one chance in a thousand thatgun business might start in this crowdedlobby, it’s worth while to be ready for it.That’s why I’m staying-and there’s sixplain-clothes men coming in before nineo’clock.”

The manager nodded in agreement. Hesaw the wisdom of protection. Cardonaarose and sauntered to the lobby; the housedetective followed. The time was five min-

utes of nine.Joe Cardona had not stated the real rea-

son for his prompt following of the tip-off.The ace held the hunch that business wasdue to-night. The call that informedCardona of potential trouble in theGrammont lobby had come to headquar-ters. Over the telephone, a weird, whis-pered voice had delivered its instructionsin a creepy monotone.

Cardona had heard that sinister voicebefore. He believed that he knew the iden-tity of the caller-that was, so far as theactual identity of the personage could betraced. Joe Cardona had recognized thewhisper of The Shadow.

GIRDING the Grammont lobby was aglittering balcony. Twenty private meetingrooms opened from that mezzanine. On thisevening-as on nearly every other-more thanhalf of the chambers were occupied.

In the Gold Room, where curtains of dullorange hung in clustered draperies and wallswere ornamented with gilded frescoes, agroup of men were gathered about a mas-sive table. Furniture, like decorations, glis-tened in golden hue. The color seemed ap-propriate, considering the affluence of themen assembled.

All looked prosperous. There were eigh-teen present; seven to a side and two ofeach end of the long table. According tothe statement which appeared on the day-board in the lobby, this was a meeting ofthe Aztec Mines owners. Perhaps that waswhy the management had designated theGold Room for the meeting.

Aztec Mines seemed to indicate gold; and

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wealth was the subject of this meeting. Butnone of the eighteen had come to discusstreasure wrested from the earth. Theywere here to speak of profits gained throughmurderous endeavor. These were the mem-bers of Crime Incorporated.

The meeting had been set for eight forty-five. No one had been late. A man with asolemn countenance had risen at one endof the table. It was Fullis Garwald, self-appointed chairman of the meeting.

“According to the by-laws of the AztecMine Organization,” began Garwald, in adry tone, “the holder of certificate numberone is to preside at any meeting of thisgroup. I am the owner of that certificate. Ishall produce it in due time.

“We have come here to declare a divi-dend. No time was scheduled for this meet-ing. Our by-laws state that it could be de-manded by a member who could presentsufficient reason for its calling. Such rea-son has been given. I turn the floor over tothe man who gave the word. Let him statehis identity.”

A figure arose at the far end of the table.It was that of a tall individual whose bluff-faced countenance was hardened in a fixedexpression. Staring steadily toward FullisGarwald, this member announced himself:

“I am stockholder number six.”“Your name?” questioned Garwald.“Richard Glade.”“Identifying members?”Two men stood up as Garwald looked

about the group. Their nods were all thatthe chairman pro tem required. They werethe contacts of Richard Glade.

“Proceed,” ordered Garwald.“In my message,” came the harsh voice,

“I stated that danger threatened our orga-nization. I added that the menace could beavoided by a prompt declaration of a divi-dend. I gave my reason: the fact that onemember of our group had been slain. One,to my knowledge. Possibly more.

“My request for the appointed meetingbrought back messages. We know fromthem that two of our chain have died. Theconsensus of opinion proved the value ofmy request.

“I call for a statement of dividends.”“Is it agreed?” questioned Garwald, as

the speaker sat down.“Agreed,” came the reply, in unison.

GARWALD drew a folded paper fromhis pocket. It was his certificate: the onlyone that bore the title “Crime Incorporated.”It passed around the table. Members nod-ded as they viewed it. This certificateproved Garwald’s title. It bore authentictransfer from Barton Talbor.

“My contribution,” declared Garwald,dryly, as he regained the certificate and laidit on the table before him, “has not yet beenconverted into cash. It consists of rare gemsnow in my possession. I estimate their valueas approximately a quarter million.”

Other members took their turn, to declaretheir contributions to the dividend fund ofCrime Incorporated. Some were holdingcash in large amounts. Others had appro-priated trust funds. Culbert Joquill, intro-ducing himself, announced that he had con-verted securities that were worth a hun-

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dred thousand dollars; and that he still heldothers worth three times that amount.

The statement of Richard Glade broughta buzz. Paintings worth nearly a millionwere stacked in an apartment, awaiting dis-posal through profitable channels. Therewere members of Crime Incorporated whocould do their part in fencing art treasures.

More reports came through. Confidentin their security, these rogues made littleeffort to veil their crimes. Every one hadhis share. Chalmers Blythe, who hadpointed the way to crime for Culbert Joquill,had gained a full million on his own, aidedin half a dozen crimes by members ofCrime Incorporated.

One member did not report. ProfessorLangwood Devine was missing. But thecrafty savant had provided for his wealthin case of death. He had informed one ofhis contacts, regarding the location of acache where he had stowed the productsof his evil genius. Devine’s loot was esti-mated at nearly half a million in cash andrare items cherished by collectors.

“Through a committee headed by my-self,” announced Fullis Garwald, “our as-sets will be liquidated. Each stockholder willbe apportioned his proper share. Somehave gained more than others; all have pro-duced, however, through the full coopera-tion of our organization. Therefore, we shallshare alike. Are there any remarks beforeadjournment?”

All eyes turned to the opposite end ofthe table. The member who had announcedhimself as Richard Glade had risen. Steadywords came from his lips. His face showed

masklike in the gold-reflected light.“I spoke of a menace,” was his stern

pronouncement. “I shall name it. CrimeIncorporated has finished its career. Themenace that you face will bring destruc-tion. I am the menace!”

WEIRD hush fell upon the room. Theglittering walls, the silent draperies seemedto hold the final words. Gilded surround-ings were a mockery. Strange fear creptover the seventeen who listened.

Then came the burst of a fierce, fear-provoking laugh. The rending cry was fromthe false lips of Richard Glade. It beliedthe identity of the face that startled menwere facing. It was the taunting challengeof The Shadow!

With his cry of mirth, The Shadowwhirled toward the draperies at the end ofthe room. His long hands, coming into view,were whisking automatics from deep pock-ets. Muzzles pointed toward the massivetable as wild-eyed men leaped to their feet.

Desperate villains, some of the membersof Crime incorporated had wisely armedthemselves before coming to their meet-ing. Revolvers flashed in answer to TheShadow’s challenge. The roar of automat-ics preceded the revolver fire.

Aiming at rising arms, The Shadowloosed crippling shots. Hot bullets sped to-ward backing foemen. His outlandish laughringing in new mockery, The Shadowwhirled as scattered shots were fired in hisdirection. Through the curtains at the endof the room, he found a hidden opening.The clash of a sliding door marked his de-

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parture.Frenzied crooks were balked. They

feared to follow. The Shadow had closed abarrier behind him. The shots had given thealarm. Three members of the group wereclutching wounded arms; three others wereslumped upon the floor.

Escape! That was their only hope. Withone accord, half a dozen of the beatencrooks sprang toward the door to the mez-zanine, brandishing revolvers as they tookto flight.

Shots greeted them from the balcony.Cardona and his squad had heard the fir-ing. Reinforced by house detectives, theyhad come up from the lobby. They fired atthe armed men whom they saw comingfrom the Gold Room.

Wild crooks fired in return. That wasproof of enmity. Police revolvers senttuxedoed rats rolling on the carpeted mez-zanine. Trapped, the members of CrimeIncorporated sprang back into the GoldRoom. One man-Culbert Joquill-tried toclose the heavy door to form a barricade.

A SHOT staggered the crooked lawyer.It came from the curtains at the end of theroom. Fullis Garwald was the first to turnin that direction. He was the first to seethe menace that had returned.

The Shadow was standing by the openeddoorway. No longer did he display the guiseof dead Richard Glade. He was garbed incloak and hat of black. His blazing eyes,keen above leveled automatics, spelleddoom to Crime Incorporated.

Garwald aimed, hoping to clear the way

for escape through the end door. An auto-matic answered. The crooked successorof Barton Talbor fell coughing to the floor.The others preferred to meet the law. Headon, the surging members of the crime chainleaped for Joe Cardona and his men whohad reached the door of the Gold Room ina body.

Unmasked crooks sought no quarter.They fought to kill. Those who had no gunswere wielding chairs while their fellowspressed revolver triggers. It was an equalfray; one that would have broken the po-lice attack, but for the enfilading fire thatbroke from beyond the curtains.

Clipping shots from The Shadow’s auto-matics dropped aiming gun arms. Bulletsintended for Cardona and his men werenever fired. Aided by The Shadow’s heavyfire, the men of the law came surgingthrough. The door clanged beyond the cur-tains as members of Crime Incorporatedwent staggering backward through theroom, sprawling across gilded chairs, stain-ing tufted carpeting of orange with theircrimson life blood.

Amid the hollow silence of a blue-drapedroom, The Shadow’s laugh sounded its part-ing knell. Crossing this empty chamber, TheShadow reached the further door. He en-tered another unoccupied apartment thathad curtains of a different hue. From thenon, his silent course faded.

IT was Clyde Burke who heard JoeCardona’s version of the fray at the HotelGrammont. At headquarters, the nextmorning, the detective recounted the dis-

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covery that had followed the annihilationof Crime Incorporated.

“We’ve got the full details of the meet-ing,” declared Cardona. “The guy thattipped us off-we don’t know who it was-sure pulled a complete job. The place waswired with a dictograph.

“Up on the floor above, two stenogra-phers were taking notes. Do you know whowas with them-who hired them? I’ll tell you.Howard Norwyn!

“He’d been hiding somewhere. He gotword from an unknown friend to be ondeck. From the reports, it appears that aguy named Richard Glade double-crossedthe rest of the crew. It was when he toldthem ‘I am the menace’ that Glade cut offthe connection, acting on instructions fromhis friend.”

“What became of Glade?” inquiredClyde.

“We don’t know,” responded Cardona.“He’s the only one of the lot that got away.But we located his apartment. We landedthose pictures that belong to the BritishSyndicate.

“Looks like Glade crossed himself, aswell as the others. I can’t figure it. But theimportant part is the way we’re tracing thestolen stuff. We’ve landed Gaston Ferrar’sjewels. We’ll have everything else in aweek, I’ll bet. What’s more, we’ve gotGarry Hewes.”

Garry Hewes?”“Yes. The real murderer of George

Hobston. One of the crime crew wasCulbert Joquill-lawyer with offices in theZenith Building. We found a secret room

in his place. Guess he didn’t trust his ownworkers, for he had a statement there aboutGarry Hewes, with the guy’s address. Itwas hidden with cash, and bonds ofHobston’s.

“We trapped Hewes in his hotel room.He put up a fight; he got the worst of it.Confessed the murder while he was dyingin the hospital. We knew Howard Norwynwas all right anyway, after he showed upwith his dictograph reports, but the confes-sion that Hewes made cleared Norwynfrom all suspicion.

“And it all started from a tip-off,” saidClyde, as he turned to leave the office.“Who gave it to you. Joe?”

“I don’t know,” asserted the detective,staring straight at the reporter.

Clyde Burke was smiling when hereached the street. He knew that JoeCardona had wisely refrained from statingthe source from which the word had come.

For Joe Cardona knew the power of TheShadow. He knew that The Shadow pre-ferred to shroud his work in darkness. Heknew that the master sleuth would aid himin the future, so long as his mighty handcould remain unknown.

Detective Joe Cardona, like the agentsof The Shadow, knew the true being whohad wiped out Crime Incorporated. Yeteven they did not know the full details ofthe master fighter’s war against that evilchain.

That record, hidden like The Shadow him-self belonged within the black walls of thesecret sanctum. The facts concerningCrime Incorporated were preserved for the

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archives of The Shadow.There, upon a single page of a massive

tome was the heading, “Crime Incorpo-rated.” Beneath it, the dividend for whichThe Shadow had called, its full sum totaled

in a single word:

“DEATH.”

THE END.