THE RADIUM MURDERS
                               by Maxwell Grant

     As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," September 15, 1937.

     Greater than the terrible penetrating power of radium, was the penetrating
power of The Shadow's mind, as he ferreted out the evil schemes of a master
villain who held in the palm of his hand the secret of The Radium Murders.


     CHAPTER I

     THE LOST ROAD

     BALMY breezes from Long Island Sound wafted across the broad veranda of the
Regatta Club. The cool night air streamed through the palatial lobby, and
brought a smile to the lips of a clerk who leaned indolently on the marble desk.
     A rasped voice ended the clerk's reverie. A thick-set man was pounding on
the desk. The clerk saw lips that had a bitter downturn; a flattish nose with
widened nostrils. Above were bushy brows, over bulgy eyes. The clerk knew that
face.
     "What - what is it, Mr. Jadway?"
     The clerk's stammer was apologetic; but it did not appease the thick-set
club member.
     "Telephone calls came for me last night," snapped Jadway. "At ten o'clock.
But I was not notified."
     "I wasn't on duty last night, sir -"
     "You're on duty tonight," interrupted Jadway. "I'm driving over to the
Hillside Country Club in Westchester, so remember it! If any one calls tell them
I am here."
     Jadway strode from the club. The clerk mopped his forehead. The job was an
easy one at this exclusive North Shore club, except when members like Ursus
Jadway found some fault. Jadway was the sort who could have an employee fired as
quickly as he could snap his fingers.
     Jadway, the clerk had been told, was a millionaire.
     Others had heard that same story including wealthy members of the Regatta
Club. All had been hoaxed. Actually, Ursus Jadway was a swindler of deepest dye.
He was a confidence man who used deluxe methods. His haughty manner, his
pretended wealth were shams.
     Jadway's true character had been uncovered by one person only. That
investigator was The Shadow.
     Hidden master who defeated men of crime, The Shadow had studied cases where
wealthy dupes had been plucked of fortunes. Behind those swindles, The Shadow
had seen the evil genius of Ursus Jadway.
     The Shadow had placed a trusted agent on the swindler's trail.
     Soon after Jadway's departure, a young man entered the lobby of the Regatta
Club and asked for the pretended millionaire. The clerk informed the questioner
that Jadway had gone to the Hillside Country Club.
     The young man was Harry Vincent, an agent who worked for The Shadow. Five
minutes later, Harry was driving a swift coupe in the same direction that Jadway
had taken. It was Harry's job to report on all contacts that Jadway made; and so
far, Harry's work had taken him to three specific places.
     One was the apartment house where Jadway lived, in New York City. The
second was the Regatta Club, on the north shore of the Sound. The third was the
Hillside Country Club, near the Hudson River.
     The three spots were like the points of a triangle. But at none of them had
Harry seen Jadway start any conference that looked like the build-up of a
swindle.


     IT was a twisty route through Westchester County, between the Sound and the
Hudson. Harry thought that he knew the byways perfectly; but halfway along his
journey, he struck unfamiliar territory.
     A slight fog had risen beneath the moonlight. Harry felt the engine labor,
as the coupe took a winding hill. The slope was new to him. He was on the wrong
road.
     The top of the hill offered a left-hand fork that led downward. Harry took
it; he ran into a stretch of rough road. Half a mile produced a well-paved fork
to the right. Taking that route, Harry struck a twisty hill that was steeper
than the previous one.
     He crossed a road that followed the contour of the hill. He twisted among
thick trees; then came to a clearing. The fog had lessened on this high ground.
     At the top of the hill, Harry looked off into the clear moonlight. He
stopped his car in wonderment.
     Outlined against the night sky was a huge house that dominated the crest.
Its walls were grim, gray stone. From its high front ran two wings. The nearer
was two stories high; the farther wing must have had four floors, for it was
visible beyond the closer wing.
     Near the rear of the lower wing was a turret, two floors in height, topped
by a cone-shaped roof. It could once have been the end of the building, but at
present, it had an addition that led to a three-story annex at the back of the
building.
     The annex connected both wings of the house, thus forming a courtyard
within the strange old building.
     The mansion was weird and gloomy - a forgotten edifice lost on the hilltop.
Its seclusion was that of a wilderness, although there were many towns in this
vicinity.
     What impressed Harry most was the repressive effect that gripped the house
itself. Though many windows were lighted, they were dim, as if vast rooms
swallowed all the glow that they possessed.
     The road evidently ended at the house. Harry drove forward; he intended to
follow the driveway beneath a front portico and swing around a circle that was
visible in the moonlight. But as he came to the porte-cochere that covered the
driveway, he was forced to jam the brakes in haste.
     A car was already parked there, blocking Harry's route. The coupe's lights
showed a squatly, wide-built roadster, with low top.
     Sight of that roadster gave Harry Vincent a new surprise. He recognized the
car instantly. It was the very automobile that he had set out to trail.
     The squatty roadster belonged to Ursus Jadway!


     FACTS were explained. At last, Harry understood why Jadway made trips
between Long Island Sound and the Hudson River. Somewhere between, at this
forgotten mansion, the swindler had a stopping-off place. His trips were blinds
to cover his visits here.
     Whatever crooked scheme Jadway was promoting, it certainly involved someone
who lived in this gray-walled house.
     Harry smiled to himself. So far he had kept out of Jadway's sight;
therefore, he could see an excellent way to learn what the swindler was about.
That method was to enter the house and meet the owner himself.
     Harry extinguished the lights of the coupe. Walking past Jadway's roadster,
he ascended stone steps to the front door. Seeing no bell, Harry pounded upon a
huge brass knocker. Ten seconds later, bolts were drawn.
     The door opened inward; by the light from a great, dim hall, Harry saw a
stalwart servant.
     The man looked dull; but he was certainly brawny. His shoulders were almost
as wide as his stocky height. His arms had the long swing of an ape's. Harry saw
beady eyes that blinked from a chunky face. Thick lips moved, as if to mutter a
question. Harry did not wait for the servant's coming words.
     "Good evening," said Harry. Then, in casual tone: "I am Mr. Vincent."
     The servant looked puzzled. He muttered:
     "You came to see Professor Dorth?"
     "Yes," returned Harry, boldly. "He may not expect me; but he will be glad
to see me."
     The servant motioned for Harry to enter. He closed the door, slithered the
bolts in place. That done, he conducted Harry across the huge hall, to a
forty-foot living room. Harry took a chair and watched the apish man go back
through the hall.
     The living room fitted Harry's idea of the interior. It was gloomy, despite
the dozen lights that Harry counted in table lamps and wall brackets. One end of
the room had bookshelves running from corner to corner, clear to the ceiling;
yet Harry could scarcely discern the books.
     The end of the room was almost a blot of darkness. Side walls and corners
were vague and deep. Drawn curtains indicated the presence of deep-ledged
windows. This room could shelter a host of unseen spies.
     Harry felt that the huge house had swallowed him. The sensation caused a
chill, that made him approach a fireplace. There, the pitiful crackle of dying
embers afforded the only sound within the hush of surrounding walls.
     At last, Harry heard another noise. Footsteps, coming closer, from
somewhere beyond the great hall. They reached the hall itself, and crossed it.
Still, Harry could see no one in the gloom.
     Suddenly, a white-coated figure appeared at the living-room door. Harry
could see a face, also; but the form seemed legless, until the man was almost at
the fireplace. Then Harry noted that he was wearing black trousers below his
white coat.


     THE man's face was a darkish one, topped by sleek light hair, parted at the
left. He looked about forty years of age; his expression was a solemn one. In
purred tone, the man inquired:
     "Mr. Vincent?"
     "Yes," returned Harry. "Are you Professor Dorth?"
     "No. My name is Van Bryck. I am chief technician here. Do you come from the
Superior Placement Bureau?"
     Harry had a quick dash of thoughts. Van Bryck supposed him to be some
applicant for a position in the household. To pose as such would give The
Shadow's agent an opportunity to learn what Ursus Jadway was seeking here.
     "Why, yes," replied Harry. "That is, a friend told me that there was a job
here. He had learned it from the Bureau. But I didn't go there myself -"
     "I see." Van Bryck accepted Harry's explanation. "Read this letter, Mr.
Vincent."
     The letter was from the Superior Placement Bureau, dated a day ago. It was
addressed to Professor Lycurgus Dorth. It stated that the Bureau regretted that
no suitable applicant had been found for the post of secretary. That fitted well
with Harry's bluff.
     "My friend probably knew nothing of this," said Harry, glibly. "He told me
about the opening, a few days ago. But if there is no job -"
     "There is," interposed Van Bryck. "Professor Dorth has just concluded a
business arrangement that will make a secretary necessary. Are you prepared to
remain here, Mr. Vincent?"
     Harry smiled. In his coupe was a packed suitcase that he always carried. He
told Van Bryck that he had brought his luggage, in case he landed the job. The
technician was pleased.
     "We can attend to the suitcase later," he told Harry. "Professor Dorth will
see you first. This way, Mr. Vincent."
     Harry followed the technician across the gloomy hall. They took an inner
corridor that led deep into the house.
     They came to a square-walled room. Van Bryck motioned Harry to a chair in a
deep, dim corner. The technician went through a farther door; made an
announcement and returned. He sat down near Harry.


     SOON, the far door opened. Two men stepped from it. One was Ursus Jadway,
whose big lips showed a smile. The other was unquestionably Professor Dorth.
     Tall, but bent of form, Dorth was about Jadway's height. The professor's
face was a sharp one; but so pale that it almost matched the shock of white hair
that tapped his head. Keen, blue eyes gleamed from Dorth's dryish features. The
hand that he extended to Jadway looked like a scrawny claw.
     "Good night, Mr. Jadway," said Dorth, his tone gleeful. "Everything rests
with you, from tonight onward."
     "A wise decision, professor," returned Jadway, in bluff fashion. "Your
invention needs promotion. I can handle it."
     "Be sure to see Rune," reminded Dorth, "soon after he arrives in New York.
He will reach the Hotel Moreland at midnight."
     "Leave it to me, professor," promised Jadway. "I'll talk to Prescott Rune.
I'll sell him on the idea."
     Dorth accompanied Jadway out through the passage. Van Bryck arose and
pointed to the room that the pair had left.
     "Wait in the professor's study," he ordered.
     Harry entered a well-lighted room. He saw a desk with a chair in front of
it; and seated himself to await Dorth's return.
     There was a slight click from the doorway that Harry had left. Van Bryck
had closed the door to leave Harry alone in the study.
     The Shadow's agent was free to smile at the facts that he had learned.
     Ursus Jadway was going into New York. That would place him under The
Shadow's own observation. Hence Harry could remain here and make the
acquaintance of Lycurgus Dorth.
     By taking the job of secretary, Harry could learn facts regarding a man
named Prescott Rune, whose name had been mentioned by both Jadway and Dorth.
Evidently, Rune must hold an important part in matters to come.
     Had Harry Vincent even guessed the part that Prescott Rune was to play, he
would have lost his present elation. Grim events were in the making; but The
Shadow's agent had failed to gain even an inkling of the horror that the future
held.
     By staying in this weird mansion, Harry was postponing contact with The
Shadow. That postponement, though circumstances justified it, would later
handicap The Shadow in a struggle against hideous, ruthless crime.


     CHAPTER II

     ANOTHER VISITOR

     WHILE he awaited Professor Dorth's return, Harry took opportunity to
observe the room about him. Professor Dorth's study was a most curious place;
that fact told Harry in exactly what portion of the house the room was located.
     The study was circular in shape. Therefore, it was obviously situated in
the rounded turret that ended the rear of the two-story wing. In viewing the
house from outside, Harry had been positive that this wing ended in a dead wall,
for the three-story addition beyond it appeared to be of later construction.
     Here, inside the turret itself, Harry saw proof of his earlier opinion.
This room had only one door; that was the one through which Harry had entered.
     The room had windows, arranged in pairs. There were two such sets. One pair
of windows opened on the front of the house; the others, directly opposite,
opened into the inner courtyard. Harry could see the windows; he observed that
they were barred on the inside.
     One notable feature of the room was the thickness of its walls. They were
solid and covered with heavy wall paper that looked almost like a tapestry. The
doorway through which Harry had entered was a deep one, with fully three feet of
space from the wall to the door.
     Similarly, the inner window frames were a three-foot depth.
     From the front windows, Harry saw the lights of an automobile swing along
the driveway. It was Jadway's car, departing. A few minutes later, Harry heard
the study door open. Professor Dorth entered.
     With a smile upon his withered face, the professor took a chair behind the
desk, his back toward one of the courtyard windows.
     A desk lamp threw a pleasing glow upon Dorth's features. He looked so
friendly that Harry was sure the professor was the sort of dupe that Jadway
would try to swindle. Dorth's tone, however, showed some shrewdness.
     "Mr. Vincent," said the professor, "your work here will be very important.
Therefore, I insist upon the utmost secrecy; also that you remain here
constantly."
     Harry nodded his acceptance of the terms.
     "I am an inventor," continued Dorth. "I have produced a substance that is
similar to radium. A chemical compound that retains its radioactive qualities.
Certain men wish to invest in the manufacture of this synthetic radium.
     "A promoter named Ursus Jadway approached me. He is the man who just left
here. He wants to handle financial matters for me. But I am not sure of Jadway's
honesty. I decided that I needed a secretary, after all, to help me keep check
on Jadway."
     The statement pleased Harry. Since the professor suspected that Jadway was
a crook, it would be easy to trap the swindler when the right time came. When
Dorth made his next statement, Harry had even more admiration for the
professor's foresight.
     "Perhaps" - Dorth was smiling wisely - "you heard me mention the name of
Prescott Rune, who will arrive in New York late tonight. Rune wants to invest in
my invention. I did not tell Jadway that Rune is stopping here on his way into
New York. Glidden, my chauffeur, went to meet his train at Harmon. Rune is due
here any minute."


     DORTH had scarcely finished before there was a rap at the door. It was the
apish servant. Dorth addressed the fellow as Tardon.
     The servant announced that Mr. Rune had arrived; that Van Bryck was
bringing him to the study.
     Prescott Rune arrived. He was a portly, gray-haired man whose manner was
mild and pleasant. Dorth introduced him to Harry; as Rune seated himself, Van
Bryck joined the group.
     "Here are the papers," said Dorth, to Rune. "Made out as we agreed, when
you last visited here. We can sign them tonight. Van Bryck and Vincent can act
as witnesses."
     Rune read over the documents. He brought a large fountain pen from his
pocket and signed. Dorth took the pen and did the same. The pen passed to Harry,
who signed on a witness line. Van Bryck did the same.
     "You will hear from a man named Ursus Jadway," Dorth told Rune. "He is a
New York promoter, who wants to push my invention. I told him that he could
proceed."
     "But I have purchased full rights!" exclaimed Rune. "You have my payment of
two hundred thousand dollars! I expect to see your radioactive powder exhibited
at the medical convention, in New York. That is why I came here this week."
     "Of course," assured Dorth. "Meanwhile, Jadway approached me. I am
suspicious of him, because he learned of my invention despite my efforts at
secrecy. I told him to see no one except persons whom I named."
     "That's why you gave him my name?"
     "Yes. So that you can size the fellow. He does not know that the invention
belongs to you. If Jadway seems honest, you can use him later, to promote the
invention. If you consider him a doubtful character, postpone any decision.
Jadway will come back to me; and I shall tell him that I do not need his
services."
     "You have a good business head, professor. Unless you signed an agreement
with Jadway."
     "I signed nothing."
     Dorth looked at his watch; and decided there was just time for Glidden to
take Rune to a branch-line station named Woodbury, where the portly man could
catch the last train into New York.
     Van Bryck opened the door for them to pass; as Rune went by, the technician
handed him his fountain pen.
     "Thank you, Van Bryck," laughed Rune. "Most people forget to return
fountain pens. It is pleasing to meet an exception."
     Van Bryck produced a sheaf of expense sheets and asked Harry to put them in
proper shape. There was a typewriter on a table near Dorth's desk, so Harry went
to work. Van Bryck watched a while; then went out. Alone, Harry finished the
report sheets.
     He had time to type a brief note of his own. It concerned some small
investments; Harry addressed it to Rutledge Mann, a New York broker. Mann was an
agent of The Shadow. He would forward the letter, thus informing The Shadow of
Harry's present address.
     Pocketing the letter, Harry went out through the long passage. He found Van
Bryck in the living room.
     "Hello, Vincent," greeted the technician. "I was just coming in to see if
you had finished. Professor Dorth has retired. Glidden is just back from the
station, ready to put your car away. You will find him out front."


     HARRY went out through the front door, to encounter a stocky man in uniform
who introduced himself as Glidden. The fellow flicked a flashlight under the
porte-cochere; Harry gave him the key to the coupe as they walked toward the
car.
     "Any mail, sir?" queried Glidden. "I'm driving to town early in the
morning."
     It was the very opening that Harry wanted. He gave Glidden the letter that
was addressed to Rutledge Mann. The chauffeur pocketed it and helped Harry haul
his bag from the coupe.
     Tardon appeared from the house and took Harry's bag. Harry followed him
into the house and up a long flight of gloomy stairs. They reached a room
located in the high wing of the house.
     Alone again, Harry reviewed all that had happened. He was sure of his guess
that Professor Dorth was smart enough to deal with Ursus Jadway. Dorth had
proven that in his conversation with Prescott Rune. Jadway was being bluffed;
for he did not know that Rune had already purchased full rights to Dorth's
invention.
     As for himself, Harry felt secure. He could easily keep on with the part
that he had undertaken. Once The Shadow had received Harry's letter from Mann,
there would be new orders. This house, though gloomy and weird, was a place
where danger was merely imaginary. Such was Harry's opinion.


     THE SHADOW'S agent might have changed his viewpoint, had he been able to
gain another glimpse of Professor Dorth's study. That turret room was still
illuminated; it held two occupants: Professor Dorth and Van Bryck. The
technician's statement that the professor had retired was a falsehood.
     Professor Dorth was scanning the pages of a letter. Finished, he folded the
note and thrust it back into its envelope. The flap of the envelope was loose.
Poorly gummed, it had not remained closed.
     "So he gave this to Glidden," snorted Dorth. "Bah! I knew the fool would
try to send a letter from here!"
     "It doesn't state much," remarked Van Bryck. "There is a chance, though,
that it is written in code."
     "I shall study it tomorrow," declared Dorth. "If it is a code, I shall
solve it. A code will prove definitely that Vincent is working for Ursus
Jadway."
     "And if it is not code?"
     "Then we shall know that he is in the employ of someone else. In either
event, Vincent will remain here, lulled into the belief that he is secure."
     Van Bryck pondered, then shook his head.
     "We must be wary, professor," he insisted. "Vincent may learn too much."
     "Learn too much?" echoed Dorth. "He has learned too much already!"
     "But he suspects nothing as yet."
     "We shall let him suspect something. We shall watch his reactions, Van
Bryck. They may be of value as we proceed. Remember: we hold this fellow
helpless. With Tardon, Glidden, half a dozen others whom Vincent has not seen,
we shall have no trouble in disposing of him when circumstances require it."
     Leaning back in his chair, Professor Lycurgus Dorth delivered an insidious
chortle, revealing an evil nature that the professor had wisely veiled when in
the presence of visitors.
     The glare of Dorth's eyes was ominous. Van Bryck observed it and was
pleased. The technician, as vicious of nature as the professor, was convinced
upon one point.
     Van Bryck was sure that Harry Vincent would remain alive and unharmed only
so long as Professor Dorth chose to tolerate the new secretary's presence within
this strange mansion of evil.


     CHAPTER III

     DEATH'S LONE CLUE

     THE trip from Woodbury to New York City required about fifty minutes; hence
it was about twenty minutes after eleven when Prescott Rune came into Grand
Central Station.
     He took a cab to the Hotel Moreland, registered there and was assigned to
Room 1218. He left orders to be called at eight-thirty in the morning.
     Rune started unpacking his suitcase. This took about a dozen minutes; when
he had finished, he lifted the bag from a trunk rack and placed it on the floor.
     Rune gasped. His lips twitched from a twinge of violent pain. Doubling his
portly body, he pressed both hands to his heart. His expression became
bewildered. Whatever the attack, it was a sort that Rune had never before
experienced.
     The pain continued. Rune made a feeble outcry. When he tried to straighten,
he staggered. Pangs of agony expressed themselves upon his face, as his hands
tugged at the buttons of his vest. Finding his fingers nerveless, Rune started
for the telephone. He never reached it. Instead, he sprawled upon the floor.
     The stricken man tried to crawl to the door. He flattened five feet short
of his goal. The mirror of a closet door reflected his face; Rune was wild as he
eyed his own distorted countenance. It was a demon's visage, mocking him.
     Rune gave a final quiver, and lay still.
     For five minutes, shaded lamps threw their glow upon the twisted figure.
Then came the tingle of the telephone bell. Rune neither heard nor stirred. He
was dead.


     DOWN in the lobby, a short while later, Ursus Jadway received the clerk's
report:
     "Sorry, sir. Mr. Rune does not answer."
     Jadway glared angrily at the clock above the desk.
     "If Mr. Rune came in at midnight," began Jadway, "he ought to be awake.
It's only ten minutes after twelve."
     "Mr. Rune arrived at half past eleven," informed the clerk. "He left orders
to be called at eight-thirty. If you will leave your name, sir -"
     "I'll call him in the morning. Since he's gone to sleep, I won't disturb
him."
     As Jadway strode from the desk, a tall, calm-faced stranger let him pass.
The new guest stated that he had luggage in a taxi, waiting outside. The clerk
called a bell boy. The tall arrival followed.
     When the bell boy had unloaded the cab, the stranger spoke to the cab
driver, in whispered tone:
     "Follow Jadway! Report to Burbank. Tell him to call Henry Arnaud at the
Hotel Moreland."
     The tall stranger was The Shadow. Hearing nothing from Harry Vincent, The
Shadow had watched Jadway's Manhattan apartment. He had trailed Jadway here, in
a cab manned by one of his own agents - Moe Shrevnitz, taxi driver. Having
overheard the conversation at the desk, The Shadow intended to stay at the
Moreland.
     As Arnaud, The Shadow asked for a top-floor room. The Moreland had just
twelve floors; and he had noticed Rune's name on the register, with the listing,
1218. The clerk offered Room 1212; the new guest thought it too near the
elevators. He received 1220, instead. That room was next to the one occupied by
Rune.
     Reaching his room, The Shadow opened a suitcase and donned garments of
black. A cloak rendered him almost invisible in the room light. His disguised
face was lost from sight beneath the brim of a slouch hat. A being of blackness,
The Shadow stepped out into the hall, to listen at the door of 1218.
     The carpet was too thick to allow light beneath the door. A key blocked the
lock; the Shadow, however, began operations with a tiny pick-like instrument. In
another half minute, he would have silently entered Rune's room, to learn of
death there. A chance interruption was the factor that halted The Shadow.
     The telephone bell was ringing in Room 1220.
     Returning quickly to his own room, The Shadow answered the call in the tone
of Arnaud. It was Burbank, The Shadow's contact agent, reporting that Jadway was
back in his apartment. Hanging up, The Shadow saw no further need to enter
Rune's room.
     Since The Shadow had heard the ring of his own telephone bell, while he was
in the hall, he had merely to open the transom in order to hear any tingle of
the phone bell in 1218. He could then listen in from the hallway, if a call came
for Rune.
     That seemed sufficient, even to The Shadow; for he was dealing with Ursus
Jadway, who had a bad listing only as a swindler; not as a criminal who dealt in
murder. Unquestionably, Jadway would use strong-arm men if he saw himself in a
tight spot; but there was no indication that Jadway feared Prescott Rune.
     On the contrary, Jadway's whole manner of action indicated that he was
seeking Rune as a dupe for some new swindle. Therefore, The Shadow's time to
listen in would be tomorrow morning, when Jadway called.


     MORNING arrived. The Shadow was wakened from his customary light sleep, by
the jangle of Rune's telephone bell. The ringing persisted, while The Shadow was
getting into his clothes. He was fully dressed before the bell stopped.
     Stepping into the corridor, The Shadow could hear no voice beyond Rune's
door.
     An elevator stopped at the twelfth floor. As Arnaud, The Shadow stepped
back in his own room. He watched while a bell boy arrived to pound on Rune's
door. Gaining no response, the bell hop hurried back to the elevator.
     Rune's failure to answer the phone call had alarmed the downstairs clerk. A
scare could spread quickly at a placid hotel like the Moreland. The bell boy
would soon be back with the house detective. The Shadow did not linger; it would
be advantageous to be elsewhere, if there proved to be something wrong with
Rune.
     Packing quickly, The Shadow went downstairs. While he was paying his bill,
he noted that the bell boy was absent. He had probably gone upstairs on another
elevator, taking the house dick. That proved to be the case.
     There was a ring from the telephone bell behind the desk. The clerk
answered it. The Shadow heard his gasp:
     "What? Dead! You say that Mr. Rune is dead?"
     Staring, the clerk saw a tall form going through the doorway to the street.
He called to the cashier:
     "Who was that who just checked out?"
     "Mr. Arnaud," was the reply. "From Room 1220."
     Excitedly, the clerk dashed to the street. A taxi swung from sight around
the corner. The Shadow had made a complete departure.


     LATER that same morning, a tall, hawk-faced stranger strolled into the
lobby of the Hotel Moreland. His resemblance to Henry Arnaud was so slight that
the cashier did not notice it. The visitor inquired for Police Commissioner
Weston.
     "Sorry, sir. The commissioner can see no one -"
     "Tell him that Mr. Cranston is here," interposed the stranger. "Mr. Lamont
Cranston."
     A call to Room 1218 brought a reply to send Mr. Cranston there immediately.
The Shadow's thin lips wore a smile. As Lamont Cranston, millionaire clubman, he
was always a welcome arrival, when he called upon his friend the police
commissioner.
     In 1218, The Shadow found Weston. With the commissioner was a stocky,
swarthy-faced police inspector. He was Joe Cardona, ace sleuth upon whom Weston
depended. Both greeted Cranston. They saw him look about as he shook hands.
     There was no body on the floor; Rune's corpse had been removed. His bags
and apparel were still here, however, plus a collection of personal effects that
Weston had been examining beside the window.
     "A strange murder, Cranston," informed the commissioner. "Prescott Rune, a
Cleveland manufacturer. As near as we can determine it, his heart was subjected
to radium burns. But there's no radium on his body."
     "And no way any one could have taken it away," put in Cardona. "This room
is tight. Windows clamped; door locked on the inside."
     Pondering, The Shadow was ready to place the time of Rune's death as before
midnight, the night before. Not knowing the turn of Cranston's thoughts, Weston
made a different guess.
     "I know what's in your mind, Cranston. You think it happened before Rune
was found here. That isn't the answer. He walked in here by himself, last night.
We've put a dark-room test on everything he carried. Nothing shows a radium
glow.
     "We have two suspects, however. Last night, a stranger called to see Rune.
A man described as bull-faced, with bushy eyebrows. Also, a guest who registered
as Henry Arnaud and took Room 1220."
     "Arnaud doesn't count," put in Cardona. "His having the next room means
nothing. There's no connecting door between; and Arnaud didn't ask for 1220. The
clerk gave him that room."
     Cardona had made good choice in picking Jadway as the proper suspect. But
The Shadow was confident that Ursus Jadway had gained no opportunity to plant a
quantity of radium upon Prescott Rune. If Jadway happened to be responsible for
Rune's death, he had certainly made a foolish and unnecessary step, calling at
the hotel last night.
     Yet, Jadway might lead to the actual murderer. That was why The Shadow
decided to keep the unknown caller's name a secret. Jadway was clever. If the
law inquired for him, he would depart for places unknown. The Shadow intended to
track Jadway before that could happen.


     WHEN Cranston left Room 1218, he did not go downstairs. He had kept the key
to 1220. He entered there while the commissioner and Cardona were still talking
in Rune's room. After they went out, Cranston's tall form emerged from 1220 and
stopped at the door of 1218.
     Quickly, he probed the lock. His picks opened it easily, for he knew the
exact type of key that was used.
     Inside the room, Cranston was no longer the leisurely clubman. With the
swift precision of The Shadow, he made his own inspection of the articles on the
table by the window.
     There was a wallet, some loose coins, a fountain pen, watch, check book,
and a few other items. Though these had been subjected to a test, The Shadow was
not satisfied. Thoughtfully, he tapped the upper left pocket of his own vest.
That was the spot where the radium was probably planted on Rune.
     Immediately afterward, The Shadow examined Rune's fountain pen. He
unscrewed the barrel and studied the rubber filler. It was a full inch too
short. Working on the barrel, The Shadow gave it a reverse twist. A short length
unscrewed from the tip.
     It was an extension, fitted so tightly that the eye could not discern the
join. Moreover, it had a left-hand thread; to fool the ordinary handler.
     From the cuplike container, The Shadow poured a quantity of grayish powder
that resembled burned ashes. He found a hotel envelope; dumped the powder into
it. He replaced the fake tip upon the fountain pen and left it as he had found
it.
     Pocketing his envelope, The Shadow left the room. He sidled into a passage,
just in time to avoid Joe Cardona and a plain-clothes man, when the pair arrived
up from the lobby. They went into 1218 to gather Rune's effects. Lamont Cranston
was gone when they came out into the corridor.


     HALF an hour later, The Shadow was in a room where black walls glistened.
This was his own laboratory; he was making an important test with the grayish
powder. He poured it on a sheet of thin paper; wrapping the powder within, he
placed the packet on a small, horizontal screen.
     The Shadow extinguished the lights. The lab became pitch dark, except for
one spot. The screen beneath The Shadow's hands remained aglow.
     The screen was coated with phosphorescent zinc sulphide. Upon it were
brilliant streams; they were radioactive emanations. The Shadow moved a
black-gloved hand above the screen. The emanation vanished; with it went the
greater part of the phosphorescence. The glow returned; fresh emanation was
diffused.
     His experiment ended, The Shadow turned on the lights.
     The Shadow had identified the grayish powder. It was a compound of
actinium, a substance far more radioactive than radium, but of lesser duration.
Comparatively, a compound of pure actinium would fall to half its value in four
seconds; while an emanation of radium would require four days for such a marked
decrease.
     The compound was not ordinary actinium; but it showed qualities similar to
that element. It explained two facts: the death of Prescott Rune; also why a
dark-room test had failed to show a glow from the fountain pen that contained
the fatal powder.
     Subjected to high-powered radioactive emanations, Rune had suffered the
burns that produced his death. Had the fountain pen been examined at that time,
it would have revealed a phosphorescent glow. By morning, its emanations had
become too feeble to penetrate the barrel of the fountain pen. It had taken a
laboratory test of the actual powder to show the remnants of radioactivity.
     The Shadow had uncovered scientific murder of a new and devastating sort.
No time could be lost in tracing the perpetrator.
     From the laboratory, The Shadow entered another room: his sanctum. Picking
up earphones, he called Burbank. The contact man gave a report on Ursus Jadway,
furnished by agents whom The Shadow had ordered on watch.
     At nine o'clock that morning, Jadway had been trailed to the Hillside
Country Club. The swindler was playing golf there.
     Ten minutes after Burbank's report, The Shadow appeared upon the street in
Cranston's guise. He was carrying a light bag that contained his black garments.
Stopping off at the exclusive Cobalt Club, he lunched with Commissioner Ralph
Weston.
     The Shadow's next destination was the Hillside Country Club, in Westchester
County. There, he expected to begin an important trail. The Shadow had divined
an important fact - that Ursus Jadway must have a stopping off place between the
Hudson River and Long Island Sound.
     The Shadow intended to trail the swindler to that spot. There, The Shadow
would find the source of the doom that had struck down Prescott Rune.


     CHAPTER IV

     AT THE MANSION

     IN his plan to trail Ursus Jadway, The Shadow had given special thought to
Harry Vincent. When last seen, the agent had been on Jadway's trail. Since
murder had entered the game, The Shadow knew that Harry might be in danger.
Following Jadway was the best way to gain news of Harry.
     At Dorth's old mansion, Harry had no inkling of danger. He had risen in the
morning to find the old house gloomy, even by daylight. Dorth's study was
well-lighted, however; and time passed rapidly while Harry sorted stacks of
bills and attended to unimportant correspondence that the professor gave him.
     At four in the afternoon, Van Bryck entered to remind Dorth of the hour.
     "Ah, yes," nodded Dorth. "I had forgotten that James Farradon is coming
today. He will probably drive in from the South, as usual. Take Vincent to the
laboratory, Van Bryck. I shall join you later."
     Harry felt a double interest. He wanted to see the laboratory; he was also
anxious to learn who James Farradon might be. He had heard no previous mention
of Farradon; and the name was not included in any of the letters that Harry had
filed for Dorth.
     Van Bryck led Harry to the front of the house; then clear through the far
wing, to the rear annex. They descended a flight of steps and entered a large,
stone-floored room.
     The place was equipped as a laboratory - with benches, long shelves that
held bottles and beakers. There were several large machines that looked like
violet-ray lamps. Van Bryck saw that Harry had observed them, so he explained
their purpose.
     "We use these," stated the technician, "in our experiments with radioactive
substances. This machine" - he pointed to the largest contrivance - "might be
termed a radioactive charger."
     Harry looked puzzled. Van Bryck explained further.
     "You were present when Professor Dorth talked with Mr. Rune," reminded Van
Bryck. "You heard them mention the radioactive powder."
     Harry nodded.
     "Professor Dorth developed the powder after long experiments," resumed Van
Bryck. "His effort was to produce a synthetic composition that would have the
same power as radium. He succeeded in producing substances that matched the
effects of such elements as actinium and thorium, which are radioactive; but it
was not until recently that he developed a composition that is the equal of
radium itself."
     "I see," remarked Harry. "Then this new powder is the substance for which
Prescott Rune purchased full rights?"
     There was a momentary glint to Van Bryck's eyes as the technician heard
Harry's question. Van Bryck's lips pursed as he restrained a smile. Harry did
not notice these expressions; he was looking at the machine that Van Bryck had
indicated. When Van Bryck replied, his tone was as dry as before.
     "That is correct," stated Van Bryck.
     "Prescott Rune bought full rights for two hundred thousand dollars."


     TURNING, Van Bryck pointed to a small safe in the corner of the laboratory.
     "That is where we keep the synthetic radium," he remarked. "Perhaps you
will glimpse it later, Vincent. Naturally, I am telling you all this in
confidence. You understand, of course, that Professor Dorth's invention will
eventually be worth millions. That is why he has been forced to preserve such
secrecy.
     "In fact, it explains why the professor has cut himself off from the world.
Perhaps you have wondered because there is no telephone here; also that no
newspapers are delivered. The answer is that Professor Dorth wants nothing to
distract him or those who work for him."
     Leaving Harry to roam where he wished, Van Bryck went to a laboratory
bench, and lighted a Bunsen burner. He began a test with a reddish powder,
stopping at intervals to consult a notebook.
     Harry said nothing to interrupt Van Bryck's experiment. A question had come
to Harry's mind, but he did not voice it. Harry was wondering why Professor
Dorth had peddled an invention worth millions, without getting more than two
hundred thousand dollars for the rights.
     It was a most puzzling question, particularly because Prescott Rune had
been the purchaser. Rune had impressed Harry as anything but a bargain driver.
In fact, Professor Dorth had warned Rune against Ursus Jadway, as though fearing
that Rune would be unable to guard himself against the swindler.
     Somehow, the circumstances did not fit. Dorth was a shrewder man than Rune;
yet Rune had gained Dorth's invention for a fraction of its value.
     True, Dorth was a friendly sort, who might have set two hundred thousand
dollars as his goal, willing to let Rune gain all beyond that sum. Yet it was
odd that Dorth had not reserved some rights to the invention; at least a form of
royalty payment, should the profits reach a high mark.
     While Harry was pondering over this matter, the door of the laboratory
opened and Professor Dorth appeared. The old inventor was accompanied by a tall,
stoop-shouldered man whose eyes had a sharp gleam and whose lips formed a greedy
smile. This, Harry knew, must be James Farradon.


     DORTH did not introduce the newcomer. The two walked across the laboratory
to the safe in the corner. Van Bryck stopped work at the bench and followed,
motioning to Harry to do the same. They came closer and stood aside while Dorth
talked with Farradon.
     Viewing Farradon at close range, Harry did not like the man's looks.
Farradon seemed to be a man of influence and wealth; but he carried an air of
self-importance, which he had demonstrated when he ignored Harry and Van Bryck.
     In both attire and manner, Farradon carried his pose of importance. He was
wearing clothes that were exaggerated in style; gray-striped trousers, topped by
a frock coat. His right hand made a gesture as he swept it toward a slanted
inside pocket on the left side of his coat.
     With a grand air, Farradon produced a gold cigarette case, opened it and
extracted a cigarette. He replaced the case, and raised a lighter from the end
of a watch chain. Holding both cigarette and lighter, Farradon put the cigarette
in a holder, placed the latter to his lips and struck a light.
     Professor Dorth was opening the safe. From it, he brought a square wooden
box, measuring about four inches across.
     "Let me have the box," snapped Farradon, between cigarette puffs. "I wish
to examine the seals for myself."
     Meekly, Dorth handed over the box. Farradon laid it on a workbench. He
extinguished his cigarette against the stone window sill; then held the box to
the light. Harry saw seals upon the box. They were intact. Farradon was
satisfied.
     The visitor allowed Dorth to open the box. It looked heavy for its size;
that was explained when Dorth brought out a small lead casket, almost the size
of the wooden one. Farradon had lighted a second cigarette, he extinguished it
hurriedly, so that he could examine the lead casket.
     The inner box had seals; they, too, were unbroken. Farradon nodded his
satisfaction.
     "Bring the dark lens, Van Bryck," ordered Dorth. "We shall let Mr. Farradon
examine the contents."
     Farradon's cigarette case was empty. From a pocket of his frock coat, he
produced a fresh pack of cigarettes. Ripping the pack, he stowed the cigarettes
in the case while Van Bryck was bringing the dark lens.
     It was blocky, like a box cover; and had a dark glass in the top. Above it,
Van Bryck drew up an oval shaped telescopic tube.
     Farradon opened the lead casket. Harry saw a small quantity of blackish
powder in a thimble-like cavity. Farradon put the dark lens over the hollow. He
looked down through the oval tube, as a photographer would, about to snap a
camera.
     Farradon's chuckle told that he was pleased by what he saw. Van Bryck took
away the dark lens. Farradon returned the casket to Dorth.
     "The powder has retained full intensity for one month," declared Farradon.
"You may proceed with the manufacture of the required quantity. How long will
you need, professor?"
     Farradon was lighting another cigarette, when Dorth answered: "At least
three months."
     "Very well," decided Farradon. Then, in sharper tone: "Remember, though,
that I have already paid you two hundred and fifty thousand -"


     FARRADON clipped his words short, when Dorth gave a warning gesture.
Farradon noticed Harry; Dorth bridged the gap by coolly introducing his new
secretary. Politely, Dorth invited Farradon to come up to the study. The two
left promptly.
     "Farradon is a friend of Rune's," was Van Bryck's prompt comment to Harry.
"That's why he is allowed here. The professor let him seal up the powder a month
ago, to test its radioactive duration for himself. We keep the powder in a lead
casket, the same as they do with radium."
     Van Bryck locked the wooden box in the safe. He picked up Farradon's
emptied cigarette pack; crumpling both the paper and the inner foil, he tossed
the wad into a wastebasket. He suggested that Harry go with him to the living
room.
     Though it was an hour until sunset, the living room was almost dark. Tardon
was fixing a fire in the grate; Van Bryck told him to light the lamps. Just
then, Dorth and Farradon arrived from the study.
     Van Bryck stepped into the hallway; he plucked Farradon's light overcoat
from a rack by the front door.
     As he helped Farradon slip his arms into the coat, Van Bryck looked toward
the floor. He stooped to pick up something.
     "A pack of cigarettes, Mr. Farradon," remarked Van Bryck. "It fell from
your overcoat pocket."
     "An extra pack?" queried Farradon. "I did not know that I had one."
     Farradon took the pack and dropped it in his pocket. Professor Dorth saw
him out through the front door, with Van Bryck following.
     Seated in the darkness of the living room, Harry Vincent was deep in
thought when he heard the whine of Farradon's departing automobile.
     At last, certain facts were plain to Harry. He knew why Professor Dorth had
so obligingly sold his invention rights to Prescott Rune for a paltry two
hundred thousand dollars. He knew also why Dorth was so competent to deal with a
swindler like Ursus Jadway.
     Professor Dorth was himself a swindler. That fact had escaped Harry down in
the laboratory, when James Farradon had started to mention the sum of two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Farradon, like Rune, was a purchaser of full
rights to Professor Dorth's radioactive powder.
     Farradon was sharper than Rune; yet both had been bluffed by Dorth. Each
had bought an invention that had been sold to the other; and Farradon, the wiser
of the two, had paid the higher price.
     Van Bryck was supporting Dorth in the crooked game. The technician had
tried to cover up the slip by telling Harry that Farradon was a friend of
Rune's; the statement had been a clever bluff, but Harry knew it for a lie.
     Harry gained new suspicions. Perhaps there were others, besides Rune and
Farradon, to whom Dorth had sold rights. Possibly the invention was a fake,
despite the test to which Farradon had put it. What puzzled Harry was how the
game would end. Eventually, he supposed, swindled men would find out the truth;
then there would be trouble for Professor Lycurgus Dorth.
     Confident that The Shadow would soon arrive here, Harry resolved to leave
that problem to his chief. Harry's own part, he decided, would be to keep up a
good front meanwhile; to pretend that he had not caught on to Professor Dorth's
schemes.
     Ignorant of the fact that Prescott Rune was already dead, Harry did not
realize the depths of Professor Dorth's mad, insidious schemes.
     Murder was the method by which Dorth had planned to rid himself of
troublesome claimants for his supposed invention. Last night, Prescott Rune had
been sent forth from this house to die. Tonight, the same fate was in store for
James Farradon.
     There was urgent need for The Shadow's prompt arrival at this house where
doom was fostered.


     CHAPTER V

     THE BROKEN TRAIL

     AT the time of Farradon's departure from Dorth's mansion, Ursus Jadway was
crossing the side veranda of the Hillside Country Club, after a second eighteen
holes of golf. Seated upon the veranda was a silent personage whom Jadway did
not observe. The Shadow was awaiting Jadway's return from the golf course.
     Jadway was accompanied by other members of a foursome; the group was bound
for the locker room. It was half an hour before Jadway reappeared with two of
his friends.
     The trio seated themselves on the veranda and ordered drinks. One man
unfolded an evening newspaper that he had obtained in the club house.
     The Shadow was close enough to observe the group. In his guise of Cranston,
he looked like a chance member of the Hillside Country Club. Watching Jadway,
The Shadow saw the bull-faced swindler eye the newspaper that one of the other
men held. Apparently, Jadway noted a conspicuous headline; for he leaned
sideways to view the outspread sheet. The other man spoke.
     "Here's odd news!" came the exclamation. "A strange death reported at the
Hotel Moreland. Wealthy man from the Middle West found dead from radium burns."
     "What was his name?" inquired Jadway. "How did he happen to be carrying
radium around with him?"
     "His name was Prescott Rune," replied the man with the newspaper, "but the
radium angle seems to be unfounded. The headlines shout about radium burns; but
no radium was found on the dead man."
     The Shadow saw relief on Jadway's face; then puzzlement. Jadway gulped the
remainder of his drink; then drew a big cigar from his pocket.
     Watching Jadway's flattish profile, The Shadow analyzed the thoughts that
were in the swindler's mind.
     Jadway had guessed this morning that something was wrong, when Rune did not
answer his telephone call. He had probably not supposed that Rune was dead.
Jadway's logical reaction was to think that Rune had gained suspicion of a
swindle scheme, and was dodging it. On that account, Jadway had shied away from
trouble.
     Here, on the veranda of the Hillside Country Club, Jadway had gained his
first news of Rune's death. He listened for more details.
     "Somebody came to Rune's hotel at midnight," read the man who held the
newspaper. "He wanted to see Rune; but Rune's telephone wasn't answered. There
was a telephone call this morning, for Rune. The police think the same man made
it."
     Jadway shrugged his shoulders, as though his interest in the matter had
passed. His bluffness regained, he arose.
     "I'm driving over to the Regatta Club," informed Jadway. "There's some sort
of a shindig there tonight. I'll call you fellows tomorrow, to arrange another
golf game."
     Jadway entered the club house and made a telephone call. Strolling past the
club house door, The Shadow saw the swindler come from the booth and sit down to
read a magazine. The Shadow took an obscure chair on the far side of the
veranda.


     THIRTY minutes passed. The sun had set; long streaks of dusk were
stretching across the golf course, when a black sedan pulled up in front of the
club house. A few minutes later, Jadway came out and entered his sporty
roadster.
     Gloom was shrouding the veranda rail beside The Shadow. Easing across the
rail, The Shadow went to his own car, which was in a parking space at the side.
     The Shadow circled the club house. His route was timed to perfection. He
saw Jadway's roadster rolling along the main driveway. The Shadow followed,
keeping his trim coupe at a set distance behind Jadway's car.
     It was an odd pursuit, for Jadway seemed in no hurry. He turned on his dim
lights as he took the road toward Long Island Sound. The Shadow copied the move,
a few minutes later; but with his lights on, he let Jadway gain more distance.
     Peering into the rear-view mirror of the coupe, The Shadow saw something
that he expected.
     The black sedan had taken up the coupe's trail.
     Traveling without lights, that car was unquestionably filled with men whom
Jadway had summoned. Ordinarily, the swindler had no need for a cover-up crew;
but he had been wise enough to have one always in reserve.
     Under suspicion of Rune's murder, Jadway was running no chances. He
intended to have thugs on hand to aid him, should he be challenged anywhere or
any time.
     The Shadow gave Jadway's car more leeway. Knowing the route from Harry's
reports, he decided to look for suspicious spots along the way, rather than tag
the roadster too closely. That might deceive the cover-up crew.
     Slackening speed, The Shadow saw Jadway's tail-light disappear into a clump
of woods.
     During the next mile, The Shadow saw no sign of the roadster; nor were
there any turn-offs along the road. There was one point where the highway turned
sharply. There, The Shadow's headlights showed an old barn at the turn of the
road.
     Just after The Shadow's speedometer had clicked a mile and two-tenths, a
warning sign glistened in the headlights. It marked a crossroads - a place where
Jadway could have turned. Ordinarily, The Shadow would have paused to consider
the best route, but he suddenly found good reason not to linger.
     Headlights burned brilliantly from behind him. There was a roar of a
swiftly gaining car. It was the black sedan, no longer playing its game of
hidden observation.
     As The Shadow kept straight on at the crossing, the brilliant lights tagged
close to the rear of his car. It was plain that the sedan intended to trail the
coupe closely from this point onward.


     THE stunt would have been a good one, had The Shadow not known that the
sedan was trailing him. Because of his knowledge, The Shadow divined the game.
     Somewhere within the past mile, Jadway had managed to leave the main road.
The Shadow's trail was broken. He had need of another move to trick the pursuing
sedan.
     Slightly increasing his speed, The Shadow watched the road ahead. After
another mile, he saw what he wanted: a filling station on the right side of the
road.
     The Shadow swung the coupe into the station, pulled up beside a gasoline
pump and let the pursuing sedan roar past. He saw the other car disappear beyond
a turn.
     The service station man came from a little wooden shack. The Shadow ordered
him to fill the coupe's tank with gasoline; to check the oil and water, and to
put air in the tires. While the attendant set to work, The Shadow removed his
small bag from the car and strolled into the little shack.
     Choosing an obscure corner, The Shadow opened the bag; from it, he took
cloak, hat and gloves. Swiftly, he donned his black garb; then chose a small
rear window through which to leave the shack.
     In darkness, The Shadow moved to the far edge of the little building. The
ground was blackened, except for the lighted space in front of the service
station. Avoiding that illuminated area, The Shadow glided invisibly toward a
clump of bushes near the edge of the road.
     He had not long to wait. Soon, he heard the approach of sneaky footsteps.
Two men edged up in the darkness; they paused less than six feet from where The
Shadow stood. The invisible listener heard their low whispers, as they watched
the service station attendant, busy with The Shadow's car.
     "The mug ain't in his bus, Caulkey," observed one of the two thugs. "Guess
he's gone into the little house."
     "I'll lamp the joint, Rip," returned "Caulkey." "You stick here. Get ready
when he comes out. Hop on the running board and bean him. If the gas station guy
don't wise to nothing I'll join you."
     "Yeah. And when we go past Silk's sedan, I'll give the blink so's he'll
know we've took the mug with us."
     "O.K., Rip."
     Caulkey moved away, followed the edge of the lighted space, just as The
Shadow had done. Waiting in the darkness, The Shadow remained close to "Rip."
From the brief conversation, The Shadow had learned various facts.
     From the reference to "Silk," he had guessed the identity of the ruffian
who headed the band of thugs in the sedan. A crook named Silk Marron had
recently disappeared from Manhattan, taking a crew of picked "gorillas" with
him. Obviously, this outfit was in the employ of Ursus Jadway.
     Trailing The Shadow's coupe, Silk had stopped the sedan just past the turn
in the road. He had sent Caulkey and Rip back to reconnoiter; to bag the
occupant of the coupe and carry him away in his own car. It would be up to the
thuggish pair to dispose of their victim, while Silk Marron went his own way
with the remainder of the band.


     UNWITTINGLY, Silk Marron had played into The Shadow's hands. That fact was
proven soon after Caulkey began his foray toward the service station. Rip saw
Caulkey edge past the shack; a moment later, the watching hoodlum heard a
whispered laugh almost in his ear.
     Wildly, Rip spun about in the darkness. It was the very move that The
Shadow wanted.
     A long arm hooked Rip's elbow and circled the thug's neck. Viselike fingers
gripped Rip's throat. Powerful shoulders hoisted the hoodlum upward, twisted him
and flattened him back downward upon the turf. Rip's head took a jolt, The thug
subsided.
     Searching Rip's pockets, The Shadow found a roll of adhesive tape. He
plastered a strip over Rip's mouth, rolled him face downward and bound his
wrists with his own belt.
     Caulkey was returning by the time The Shadow had finished the job. The
second thug sneaked into the bushes; hearing a stir, Caulkey whispered:
     "The mug ain't in the shack! C'mon out to the road, Rip -"
     Blackness avalanched upon Caulkey. The Shadow sprawled the thug beneath the
bush; caught his arm in a warning twist. A gloved hand plastered tape over
Caulkey's mouth. The crook had suspenders instead of a belt, so The Shadow used
them as bonds.
     Gathering revolvers and blackjacks from the underworld pair, The Shadow
returned to his car. When the service station attendant approached, The Shadow
had one hand ungloved. He thrust a pair of dollar bills into the man's hand;
told him to keep the change. The coupe was off before the fellow had a chance to
look for the driver's face.
     Swinging the turn, The Shadow saw the glisten of the black sedan. He
blinked the coupe's lights. By the time he reached the end of a straight
stretch, the coupe was coming along. Silk Marron believed that Caulkey and Rip
had made their capture.
     Turning into a side road, The Shadow extinguished lights and let the sedan
pass. Returning to the highway, he reversed his route. He passed the service
station and the crossroads, until he reached the mile stretch where Jadway could
have disappeared. The Shadow stopped his car, facing the abandoned barn that
marked the sharp curve.
     On the hard ground, The Shadow saw faint traces of tire marks. He could see
a purpose that the barn might serve, it could be a special camouflage to throw
off trailers. A device intended for emergencies; therefore the sort that Jadway
would use in tonight's pinch.
     But there would have to be someone in the barn. Otherwise, Jadway would
have had to pause to open the door.


     TURNING off the lights, The Shadow crept from the coupe. Near the barn, he
heard a slight scrape from the door. Someone had slid it slightly open, to watch
the darkened coupe.
     Drawing back, The Shadow drove his right fist shoulder high, straight for
the opening. The punch ended with a jolt.
     There was a thump inside the door. Edging in, The Shadow used a flashlight
to reveal a groggy, rough clad man upon the barn floor. The Shadow had found the
side of the watcher's jaw. The fellow had slumped when he received the punch
from outside darkness.
     The Shadow bound this new prisoner with chicken wire, which was strewn
about the old barn floor. He used the last of Rip's adhesive tape to gag the
watcher. Stowing the man in an empty stall at the side of the barn, The Shadow
slid back the big door.
     He went out to his coupe, turned on the lights, and drove the car into the
barn. He closed the door behind him.
     Reentering the coupe, The Shadow looked ahead. The glare of the lights
showed what he had expected. The rear of the barn was partially demolished; it
showed a space sufficient to allow the passage of an automobile.
     Beyond was a broad expanse of barnyard; then a broken fence. The Shadow saw
the ruts of an old road that led off through the trees, evidently to some
highway.
     The Shadow had uncovered a clever device used by Ursus Jadway when the
swindler feared followers during a journey to Professor Dorth's secluded
mansion.
     A man, stationed in the barn, had been ready for a distant signal from
Jadway's approaching car. He had slid the door open for Jadway's entrance;
closed it the moment that the swindler's car had entered.
     Jadway had gone through, leaving Silk Marron and his henchmen in the sedan
to take care of any suspicious followers. His trail broken, Jadway had continued
his course to the house upon the hill.
     The Shadow, however, had discovered the broken trail. Though he had not yet
learned of Professor Dorth's strange mansion, he was soon to do so. As he
followed the rutty road behind the barn, The Shadow came to a stretch of narrow
but well-paved highway. Taking it, he ascended a slope; a treeless stretch gave
him a chance view of a distant hill.
     Moonlight had come from the horizon. It was sufficient to reveal high
levels of ground that were silhouetted against the eastern sky. In the distance,
The Shadow saw the outline of Dorth's gray-walled house.
     The old mansion was the only habitation in this portion of the lonely
countryside. Sensing the importance of the distant house, The Shadow chose it as
his goal.


     CHAPTER VI

     HARRY LEARNS TOO MUCH

     DESPITE the fact that The Shadow had uncovered his trail, Ursus Jadway had
gained considerable distance on his pursuer. The Shadow had lost time in
returning to the trail. Moreover, he was handicapped in his choice of torturous
roads that might lead him to the mansion on the hill.
     Hence Jadway arrived at Dorth's with nearly half an hour's leeway. Pulling
up beneath the porte-cochere, the bull-faced swindler alighted and pounded the
big knocker on the front door.
     Bolts gritted; the door opened Tardon peered out to view the visitor. With
a curt bow, the apish servant admitted Jadway.
     Two men were seated in the gloom of the living room when Jadway passed.
Those two were Harry Vincent and Van Bryck. They heard Jadway speak to Tardon
while walking through the hall. Thus both recognized the visitor, despite the
fact that they could scarcely see Jadway's figure in the gloominess of the hall.
     To Harry, Jadway's arrival was a fortunate occurrence. It promised
opportunity to learn more of Professor Dorth's methods.
     Although Harry felt sure that Dorth could not expect to swindle Jadway as
he had Rune and Farradon, it was certain that the professor would have to bluff
this rival swindle artist. Harry had seen evidence of such bluff on Jadway's
previous visit.
     Unfortunately, Harry did not expect an invitation to the conference between
Dorth and Jadway; nor could he think of any excuse for a visit to the
professor's turret-shaped study.
     Minutes passed while Harry sat before the fire, wishing he could overhear
the conversation between Dorth and Jadway. Van Bryck was seated beside a table,
jotting chemical formulas in a notebook. Suddenly, the technician arose and
delivered a pleased exclamation.
     "I've discovered something, Vincent!" exclaimed Van Bryck. "The very
chemical solution that Professor Dorth requires! One of our problems has been
the handling of radioactive substances. What we have needed has been a proper
solvent for lead. I have made liquid compounds in the past, and have dipped
gloves in them. But the cloth has always stiffened and cracked when dry.
     "This new formula will work! It offers the proper amount of lead content,
yet the treated cloth will remain flexible. Professor Dorth will be pleased when
he sees the result. I am going to the laboratory at once."
     Rising, Van Bryck glanced at his watch; then added:
     "If Professor Dorth should inquire for me, tell him that I shall be in the
laboratory for at least the next half hour."


     VAN BRYCK departed from the living room. Harry heard the dying echoes of
the technician's footsteps. Eagerly, Harry arose and crept out to the deserted
hall. Now was his opportunity to visit Dorth's study.
     Once in the hallway, Harry gazed keenly in every direction. Satisfied that
the catlike Tardon was not about, Harry stole along the passage that led to the
study, moving rapidly each time he came to a lighted spot; pausing momentarily
amid patches of darkness. He reached the square-walled anteroom outside of
Dorth's study. There, Harry paused.
     The study door was ajar; from its edge came a streak of light. Listening,
Harry could hear the murmur of voices within the brilliant, round-walled room.
     Step by step, Harry advanced. When he reached the door, he paused. The
voices were audible. Harry risked a look through the openings.
     He saw Professor Dorth behind his desk, facing Ursus Jadway on the opposite
side. The two were engaged in discussion; neither was gazing in Harry's
direction. Harry held his position and listened intently.
     Professor Dorth was speaking. The old inventor's tone had a dryish crackle
that was delivered in sincere fashion.


     "I ASSURE you again, Mr. Jadway," declared Dorth, "that I am distressed to
learn of this death. I regarded Prescott Rune as a personal friend, even though
I had scarcely ever seen the man."
     "But what about those radium burns?" demanded Jadway, gruffly. "How did
Rune get them?"
     "I sent him a sample of my radioactive powder," returned Dorth. "He
examined it and sent it back. I warned him that it must handled carefully; that
it must be carried in a lead container. Rune, apparently, neglected to follow my
instructions."
     "There was no radium found on his body -"
     "Of course not! The powder had been returned. Rune's death was due to
after-effects. It is what we term a post-radium poisoning."
     Jadway grunted; then commented: "It's odd the police didn't think of that
theory."
     "Not at all," assured Dorth, in his dry tone. "They are used to considering
radium in very small quantities. The amount of radioactive powder that I sent to
Rune was far in excess of the usual quantity handled by experts. I assure you
again, Mr. Jadway, this was a case of delayed results, due entirely to Rune's
own carelessness."
     "I'll take your word for it, professor," decided Jadway, rising from his
chair. "It's put me in a bad spot, though. You know, of course, that I was the
last person to inquire for Rune before he died."
     "You told me that, Mr. Jadway. But you also stated that you did not leave
your name at the Hotel Moreland."
     "That's the only good point about the mess. Naturally, professor, I don't
want to put you in a jam. That's why I decided not to talk to the police."
     "I understand."
     Professor Dorth chuckled slightly as he made the statement. Harry caught
the significance. Dorth knew that Jadway could not afford to come in contact
with the law. Should the police investigate Jadway's past, they would certainly
uncover his swindling career. To charge Dorth with murder would be a mistake on
Jadway's part.
     Harry could see Jadway's face at the moment of Dorth's chuckle. Jadway
looked worried; it was plain that he had not caught the mild sarcasm that Dorth
expressed.
     A positive thought struck Harry immediately. Jadway had actually fallen for
Dorth's bluff. After all, that was not surprising. Jadway, intent upon a swindle
scheme, was so concerned with his plans to acquire Dorth's invention that he had
failed to guess that the professor was as great a swindler as himself.


     "WE must forget Rune," remarked Dorth, sadly. "After all, Mr. Jadway, we
may consider Rune as a victim to science. His death was unfortunate, but it
should no longer concern us."
     "I guess you're right, professor," agreed Jadway, in a tone that showed
relief. "Only there's one thing we can't forget. Rune was one of the big-money
men on your list of prospects."
     "There are others," remarked Dorth. "One man, in fact, may arrive in New
York tonight. It would be wise for you to interview him, Mr. Jadway."
     Jadway chewed his large lips in nervous fashion. He was becoming jittery
regarding Dorth's prospective customers.
     "Maybe I'd better wait a while, professor," began Jadway. "On account of
Rune's death, you know -"
     "There are reasons why you should not wait," inserted Dorth. "The man whom
you must interview is named James Farradon. He is visiting a friend in New York.
Since I did not know where Farradon would be, I telegraphed his home in
Baltimore last night. I told Farradon to call your apartment by telephone after
he reached New York."
     Jadway gaped. Dorth smiled and added:
     "Do not worry about Farradon. He never heard of Prescott Rune. When he
telephones you, he will probably give his address. I advise you to go there and
see him."
     "But Farradon may have read of Rune's death!" exclaimed Jadway. "That will
put me in deeper, professor!"
     Dorth shook his head.
     "Quite the contrary," he insisted. "When you meet Farradon, you can tell
him that neither you nor I ever heard of Prescott Rune. You can add that it
would be unwise to even mention Rune's name, because of the adverse sentiment
that might be raised in regard to radioactive experiments.
     "Farradon is a keen business man, who is probably prepared to invest a
large sum in my invention. He will agree with you, Mr. Jadway."
     Harry saw a gleam upon Jadway's face. The swindler had taken the bait. He
was nodding, to show his agreement with Dorth's plan.
     "I'll go right back to New York," decided Jadway. "I stayed away from my
apartment today; but my valet is there. He would have tipped me off to any
trouble, when I called him up this afternoon. I'll go back to the apartment, to
be there when Farradon calls. You're right, professor; it would be wise for me
to talk to Farradon."


     EVEN while Jadway spoke, a horror seized Harry Vincent. In learning of
Rune's death; Harry had guessed Dorth's game.
     Dorth had carefully kept Jadway ignorant of the fact that Rune had been in
this very house last night. Somehow, Dorth had murdered Rune and had fixed the
trail to Jadway. A faint trail, perhaps, but one that had started the police in
search of an unknown caller who had stopped in to see Rune at the Hotel
Moreland.
     As he had dealt with Rune, so would Dorth handle Farradon. Instinctively,
Harry realized that another victim was marked for death. Again, the trail would
point to Jadway; this time, it would be more apparent than before.
     Jadway would be sought by the law. His only course would be flight, to
avoid a questioning that would make trouble for himself as well as for Professor
Dorth.
     Harry felt no qualms regarding Jadway. He was a crook; he deserved to be
duped. The horror that gripped Harry concerned James Farradon. Sometime
tonight, death would strike him as it had found Prescott Rune. How, Harry could
not guess; he knew only that murder was due.
     For a moment, Harry was ready to make a dash to the garage for his car.
Harry wanted to contact The Shadow; to warn his chief of the harm that
threatened James Farradon.
     Before he could move, Harry found it necessary to remain within the
anteroom. Double circumstances forced his choice. Ursus Jadway was stepping
toward the door of the study; Professor Dorth was rising to follow him.
     As Harry drew back into the gloom of the anteroom, footsteps sounded from
the long passage that led to the front of the house.
     Evidently, Van Bryck had cut short his experiments in the laboratory, for
Harry recognized the footfalls as those of the technician.
     Realizing that persons would soon arrive from two directions, Harry dived
for a deep corner and found a hiding place behind a large chair.
     Temporarily, Harry felt secure. Concerned with thoughts of James Farradon's
plight, Harry did not consider his own situation. He overlooked the possibility
that Van Bryck might have noticed his absence from the living room.
     Harry Vincent had learned too much. In so doing, he had overstepped his
boundaries. Harry was to learn more; namely, that this old house held threats
more real than those of the darkened depths within the walls of gloomy, silent
rooms.


     CHAPTER VII

     THE ROOM OF DEATH

     A MOMENT after Dorth and Jadway reached the anteroom, Van Bryck arrived to
meet them. The technician nodded to Jadway; then flourished a notebook in front
of Professor Dorth.
     "Look, professor!" exclaimed Van Bryck. "I've found the formula we wanted.
If -"
     "One moment, Van Bryck," interrupted Dorth. "We can discuss that matter
after Mr. Jadway has gone. Where is Tardon?"
     "He was in the hall, sir, when I came through. Ah! Here he is."
     Harry, watching from his hiding place, saw Tardon arrive from the passage.
In the gloom of the anteroom, the wide-shouldered servant looked more ferocious
than ever. Harry saw the apish man display a grin as his name was mentioned.
     "Conduct Mr. Jadway to his car," ordered Dorth, speaking to Tardon. "If
Glidden has returned from town, tell him that I wish to see him. If he is not
back, leave a note for him in the garage. Then return here, Tardon."
     The servant nodded; then turned and conducted Jadway along the passage.
Dorth turned toward the study door. Van Bryck slapped him hastily.
     "It's the lead solution, professor," explained the technician. "I have
prepared a new formula -"
     "A new one?" queried Dorth. "I thought that the last was satisfactory. You
showed me a gallon of the liquid preparation in the laboratory."
     "This new formula may prove better," insisted Van Bryck. "If you will look
at my notations, professor -"
     "Come into the study. The light is better there."
     Van Bryck hesitated; Harry wondered why. If he had guessed the reason,
Harry would not have felt so secure. At last, Van Bryck decided to follow Dorth
into the study. When both had entered, they closed the door behind them.
     Harry saw a chance for quick departure, but decided not to take it. He was
uncertain about Tardon. If the servant happened to meet Glidden outside, he
would return quite promptly; and Harry did not want to encounter him in the
hall. It would be better to wait; to let Tardon come back and enter the study.
Then the way would be clear.
     Nevertheless, Harry edged from behind the chair. He crept to the center of
the anteroom; looked along the passage. He turned toward the door of the study.
     A chance thought impelled him to make use of this interval; to peer in upon
the conference between Dorth and Van Bryck. Perhaps they might be discussing
facts that pertained to James Farradon.
     Though the risk was great, Harry tried the knob of the study door. It did
not yield; as he increased pressure, it continued to resist. Harry could not
understand it. So far as he knew, the door had neither lock nor latch. The knob
had never stuck before, and Harry had used the door often.
     Whatever the explanation, it was unwise to meddle further. Harry moved away
and again waited in his corner. As he lingered, he heard the distant purr of a
departing motor. It was Jadway's car, pulling from the front of the house. To
Harry, that meant that Tardon's return might be immediate.


     OUTSIDE the house, keen eyes had witnessed Jadway's departure. From a space
below the mansion, The Shadow was standing beside his coupe. He had reached the
top of the hill; he had pulled his coupe into a clearing at the side of the
road.
     The Shadow moved forward. His eyes were upon the old house. He could
discern the peculiar gloom that came from its windows. As Harry had done, The
Shadow was visualizing the interior of the long-walled building.
     He particularly noted the light that gleamed from the windows of the
turret, for those ground-floor openings showed more light than other windows.
     Skirting toward the front of the mansion, The Shadow paused. He had
observed a singular phenomenon. The light in the front windows of the turret was
fading before a creeping blackness, as if some unseen hand were pulling dark
shades straight across the openings.
     Not only was the occurrence odd because the blackness came across instead
of down; it was peculiar because both windows were being shaded at equal speed.
     Then came a difference. The window on the right showed light on both sides
of the shade that slid across it; but the window on the left became totally
obscured. After that, a new blackness crept across the right-hand window, to
totally eclipse it. The turret was completely dark.
     Seconds passed. Light slid slowly across the window at the left. It was
followed by a short space of darkness. Suddenly, both windows began to show an
edging glow that increased until they were entirely illuminated.
     The Shadow waited a dozen seconds; then continued toward the front of the
house.
     Despite the fact that he was considering the singular behavior of the study
windows, The Shadow was as alert as ever. Just before he reached the protecting
roof of the porte-cochere, he heard the crunch of gravel. The sound was so
slight that only the keenest ear could have detected it.
     The Shadow waited. He saw a slight glow as the front door opened; against
it, he discerned the wide bulk of a squatty figure.
     It was Tardon. The apish servant had returned to the house; and The Shadow
guessed from what spot he had come. Off beyond the mansion, another building was
visible beneath the moonlight. It was the garage. Since the man had come from
there, The Shadow decided that an investigation would be worth while.


     KEEPING close to the shelter of the house, The Shadow covered the space to
the garage. He slid the door slightly to one side, entered the garage and probed
its depths with the guarded blinks of a flashlight.
     A license number showed on the rear of a stored car. The Shadow recognized
it as Harry Vincent's license plate. The Shadow had the explanation of his
agent's absence. He knew that Harry could have followed Ursus Jadway here; and
gained admittance to the house. There was also the chance that Harry had
encountered trouble.
     Examining the upholstery of the car, The Shadow found no marks to indicate
a past fray. He noted the absence of Harry's suitcase, which indicated that
Harry might be a guest in the mansion.
     As he turned toward the garage door, The Shadow glimpsed whiteness in the
path of his flashlight. It proved to be an envelope, gummed to the interior of
the door by means of the flap.
     Carefully, The Shadow raised the envelope; found a note within it. The
message was a clumsy scrawl, that read:

     Prof want to see you in study.

     It was obvious that the servant from the house had left the message for a
chauffeur. That information gained, The Shadow replaced the note in the
envelope. He stepped from the garage and slid the door shut. His flashlight
blinks were ended.
     For a brief interval, moonlight revealed a gliding, black cloaked shape.
Then all signs of The Shadow were gone. He had reached the looming darkness of
the mansion.


     INSIDE the huge house, Harry Vincent had experienced a new spell of
impatience. He was wondering why Tardon had been so long delayed in coming from
the garage. Perhaps the servant had found other tasks before returning to
Dorth's study.
     With that thought in mind, Harry again crept from his corner and peered
along the passage. Seeing no sign of Tardon in the gloom, he looked toward the
study door. More than before, he had an impelling desire to try the balky knob.
     Harry made the test. This time the knob yielded with the utmost ease. Harry
edged the door a half inch inward. He saw Professor Dorth seated behind his
desk, talking to Van Bryck. Both were engaged in deep discussion; but their
voices were subdued to a murmur.
     As he strained to listen, Harry suddenly remembered that there was still a
likelihood of Tardon's return. He drew the door shut; began to release the knob.
     At that instant, Harry sensed movement behind him. He spun about, too late.
A bulky figure jumped upon him. Huge, hamlike hands caught his throat and
slammed his head back against the study door.
     Harry sagged in the clutch of a monstrous foe. His attacker was Tardon. The
soft-treading servant had emerged from the gloom of the passage, to fall in
tigerish fashion upon an unexpected prey.
     The thump of Harry's head was heard within the study. The door popped open.
Groggy in Tardon's grasp, Harry saw Dorth gloating from the threshold, with Van
Bryck beside him. Dorth clucked a command. Tardon dragged Harry into the
round-walled room.
     Immediately, Dorth closed the door. With hopping stride, he made for the
space beyond the desk. There, he stooped and raised a strip of wood that ran
between the two window ledges. The action revealed a small, hidden switch. Dorth
pressed it.
     Harry was still in Tardon's grasp, but the apish man was no longer
throttling him. Hence Harry saw and noted all that happened.
     First, there was a slight click, almost inaudible, from the door of the
room. That accounted for the fact that the knob had previously resisted Harry's
pressure.
     Instantly after the click, the room began to move. Its action was smooth;
undisturbed by any noise of hidden mechanism. The motion was circular; startled,
Harry realized that the entire room - floor, walls and ceiling - was a massive
turntable, working upon a vertical axis.


     AS the walls performed their steady circuit, everything in the room
remained the same; the only oddity concerned the windows and the door. Harry
understood why the doorway was deep, with the door itself at the outside edge.
He also saw why the room had deep window sills, with the windows fixed far out.
     The room was like a huge cheese box, set within the house walls. The walls
of the room were solid, except for cut-out spaces that matched the door and the
windows. Through these moving openings, Harry saw the inside surface of rough
gray walls. Then, as the room completed a half circle, the motion stopped.
     The openings that had fitted the rear windows were now at the front. The
spaces formerly at the front windows served those that opened into the
courtyard. Each pair of windows were identical. The wall spaces fitted either
set.
     Naturally, Professor Dorth's desk was at the front of the room instead of
the back; the remainder of the furniture had also reversed its position.
     The doorway was the most peculiar feature. Instead of opening into the
anteroom, it offered access to a space directly opposite. There, Harry saw a
small square-walled room, some five feet across.
     It was a secret chamber, cunningly contrived; for it actually belonged in
the rear annex of the mansion; not in this wing that had once been the end of
the house.
     The tiny room was filled with a weird, phosphorescent glow. Half slumped to
the floor, Harry was close to it, for Tardon had carried him just inside the
door and the doorway was now the opening into the secret chamber.
     Looking upward, Harry saw that the little room had a thick glass ceiling.
That surface served as a mammoth lamp that poured its vivid rays down to the
floor.
     Professor Dorth pointed. His chuckle was an order. Tardon hoisted Harry;
half flung him into the secret room. The evil-faced servant stood glowering from
the doorway. Harry knew that resistance would be useless.
     "I tolerated your presence here, Vincent," announced Dorth, in a harsh, dry
tone, "only because I chose to observe your actions. I believed that you came
here as a spy, sent by Ursus Jadway, to learn what might happen between his
visits.
     "Perhaps I was wrong. Jadway has enemies. You may be someone sent to watch
him instead of me. I have not time to question you upon the subject; probably
your statements would be unreliable. Whichever the case, it does not matter.
     "If you are serving Jadway, your disappearance will simply hasten his
acceptance of the warning that I have decided to impress upon him. If you are
serving someone else, that person will suppose Jadway to be responsible for your
fate."


     DORTH paused. Harry stared upward. The diffused light from the flat glass
ceiling was delivering a peculiar, penetrating warmth.
     "No one will know your actual fate," remarked Dorth. "I am giving you the
punishment that I have delivered to the usual meddlers who have sought to
interfere with my chosen methods. To save you trouble, Vincent, I might remark
in parting that the glass above you is unbreakable."
     Harry still stared at the phosphorescent light. He heard another chuckle
from Dorth; this time, it was far from the door. Half rising, Harry looked
quickly through the opening, to see Dorth beyond the study desk. With a sliding
movement of a bony forefinger, Dorth pressed the wall switch.
     Instantly, the study wall began to revolve. Harry came to his feet, ready
to leap out. Tardon, at the doorway, drove a long arm through the closing space
and thrust Harry's chin backward with his beefy hand.
     As Harry sprawled on the floor of the little room, Tardon's hand whisked
back to safety. The door space glided shut. All that Harry saw was a circling
wall.
     On his feet, Harry clutched futilely at a slippery, metal surface. Then
came an opening, almost shoulder high. It was one of the window spaces, passing.
Tardon was at it; he swung both fists like cudgels, beating Harry back.
     As Harry rallied, the second window space came past. Again, Tardon was
there with his tremendous hands. Harry warded one thrust; the next one clipped
him.
     The window space was gone, and Tardon with it. Slippery walls finished
their half circuit. Harry pounded uselessly upon the barrier when it stopped. He
realized that the blows of his bare hands could not even be heard in the
circular room beyond.
     Harry's breath came in short gasps; not from exertion, but from the heat
which gripped this close-walled room, once all outside connection had been
ended. Vainly, he looked up to the glowing ceiling, realized that it would be
useless to attack the glass that Dorth had declared to be unbreakable.
     For the first time, Harry felt the full power of the glow. He understood
the nature of the weird light. These were the burning rays of some radioactive
substance, invented by Professor Dorth. They filled every inch of the square
room, and their power carried death!
     Harry Vincent's sojourn in this evil mansion had reached its final hour. To
Harry came the realization that whatever life remained to him would be dependent
upon the time required for the murderous rays to deliver burning death.


     CHAPTER VIII

     BELATED WORD

     PROFESSOR DORTH'S revolving study had completed the half circuit that
restored it to its normal position. From behind his desk, again at the rear of
the room, Dorth chuckled a statement of doom.
     "Ten minutes will suffice," declared Dorth. "That treatment will finish our
latest trouble-maker!"
     "You were wise to set the time switch for twenty minutes," remarked Van
Bryck. "Sometimes the heat is slow in gaining full intensity."
     "Not when we allow an advance time," reminded Dorth, "as we did tonight,
Van Bryck."
     "I had forgotten," said the technician. Then, in a dubious tone, he added:
"I think, though, it is a mistake to have the time switch in the cell itself."
     "Why so?" demanded Dorth. "We have to keep a motor switch there also. Two
are as easily concealed as one."
     "Both are bad. Suppose a prisoner should find them?"
     "Bah! Impossible!" Dorth was emphatic. "They are invisible, Van Bryck,
except when the trap is dropped. No prisoner could reach them except with a
special instrument."
     As Dorth spoke, he drew his hand from his coat pocket to display a thin
strip of metal with a hook-like end. The implement was slightly shorter than an
eight-inch ruler that lay on the professor's desk. Dorth opened a drawer; tossed
both articles into it.
     "Open the door, Van Bryck," he ordered. As the technician obeyed the
command, Dorth turned to Tardon: "I knew that we could rely upon you, Tardon.
You timed your return perfectly."
     "It was Mr. Van Bryck who planned it, professor," stated Tardon, in his
heavy tone. "We both saw that Vincent was gone from the living room; but it was
Mr. Van Bryck who guessed where he had gone."
     "And I sent you out to the garage," chuckled Dorth, "before I had a chance
to read the statement that Van Bryck had written with his notes. It was just as
well, Tardon. Both Van Bryck and I agreed that Vincent would stay in the
anteroom until after you came through."
     Van Bryck had opened the door and was standing beside it. Dorth arose;
remembering the wall switch, the professor turned about and dropped the strip of
wood that covered it. Then he approached the door.
     "Come, Van Bryck," he ordered. "We shall go to the laboratory. You may as
well accompany us, Tardon. You can wait in the front hall for Glidden; to tell
him that we have gone to the laboratory."


     THE trio moved through the anteroom. Tardon stopped suddenly. His eyes
gleamed like those of a puma as he stared toward the darkened corner where Harry
Vincent had formerly remained hidden.
     "Always wary, eh, Tardon?" queried Dorth. "Some day you may uncover a ghost
in this old house. If there are ghosts" - Dorth chuckled maliciously - "there
should be many haunting these walls."
     "One man hid here," reminded Tardon. "Where one hides, another can do the
same."
     "Provided there is any one to hide himself," inserted Van Bryck. "If there
is such a person, we can trust you to discover him, Tardon."
     Professor Dorth nodded in approval of Van Bryck's statement. Both watched
Tardon creep closer to the corner, hands extended, like a huge gorilla in search
of prey. Tardon stopped less than five feet from the wall.
     Satisfied that no one was lurking in the pitch-black space, the huge
servant relaxed. Turning about, he followed Dorth and Van Bryck along the
passage to the front of the house.
     While footfalls still echoed: there was motion in the corner toward which
Tardon had glared. Blackness seemed to materialize, to stretch itself forward
and assume a living shape. A cloaked figure reached the dim center of the
anteroom. A black-sleeved arm lowered itself to reveal burning eyes beneath the
brim of a slouch hat. A fist was visible, gripping an automatic pistol.
     The Shadow had come to the anteroom. Like Harry, he had tested the door to
the study. Finding it locked, he had waited for a short space, intending to
attack the barrier if necessary. Then Van Bryck had opened the door.
     Instead of attacking the trio in the room, The Shadow had moved away to
darkness; for he had seen that the three were coming from the study. Reaching
his chosen corner, he had been prepared for battle, but had preferred to let his
enemies go unmolested when Tardon failed to discover him.
     The Shadow had heard enough to sense that trouble had come to Harry
Vincent; and that the study held the secret of the harm that had overtaken his
agent.
     Dorth, Van Bryck and Tardon were gone from the passage. Quickly, The Shadow
opened the study door. He stepped into the room, which was still illuminated,
for Dorth had not turned off the lights. Closing the door, The Shadow stepped
promptly to the wall between the two rear windows.
     From the anteroom, he had gained a slanted view past Van Bryck's shoulders,
to see Professor Dorth drop the strip of wood between the window ledges. Finding
the little panel, The Shadow probed for the hidden catch that held it. The strip
came upward. The Shadow pressed the switch that he saw beneath it.


     THE turntable room began its revolution. The motion did not surprise The
Shadow. He had expected it. The peculiar eclipse of the front windows, that he
had witnessed from the outside, had given him an inkling of the secret which
belonged to this strange room.
     When he had come from the garage, to find the front door unbolted, The
Shadow had immediately picked this portion of the house as the one spot that
needed first investigation.
     The locked door of the study had indicated events within. The silent
revolution of the room substantiated The Shadow's belief that machinery had been
in action at the time he had reached the outside anteroom.
     As the room turned, The Shadow saw two window spaces pass the opening at
the far side. He glimpsed the scintillating flashes of light from the cell
wherein Harry Vincent lay. By the time the room had completed its half circuit,
The Shadow was standing by the doorway. A puff of hot air greeted him as the
doorway came to a stop.
     On the floor of the light-filled cell, The Shadow saw Harry Vincent. The
prisoner was crumpled, overcome by the glare of the phosphorescent ceiling lamp.
     Springing into the cell, The Shadow raised Harry and carried him out into
the study. He placed his helpless agent in an armchair; lowered the adjustable
back so that Harry lay almost flat.
     Harry's eyes were closed. His skin was reddish and dry. Despite the heat,
he had not perspired. The Shadow recognized the power of the light that formed a
roof to the death cell. Its horrible, withering rays were capable of sapping all
moisture from a human body. A short while longer, and the life-absorbing glow
would have completed its mission of destruction.
     How soon Harry would recover, was a question that The Shadow could not
answer. His rescue, however, had been in time; for the flush was slowly fading
from Harry's skin, and drops of perspiration had appeared upon the forehead
above the closed eyes.
     From beneath his cloak, The Shadow produced a small bottle filled with a
purplish liquid. He pressed the elixir to Harry's lips, but the drops of liquid
brought no immediate effect.
     Minutes passed. The heat from the horror cell had trebled. The Shadow knew
that he had saved Harry from its greatest intensity - the period when a dozen
seconds beneath the rays could prove as disastrous as the earlier intervals of
minutes. Letting Harry rest, The Shadow turned to watch developments within the
cell.
     The Shadow was not concerned with the possible return of Professor Dorth.
This round-walled room, in its present condition, was a suitable haven. Should
Dorth return, The Shadow could use it as a fortress. If Dorth did not come back,
The Shadow would be prepared to postpone the issue until later.
     To The Shadow, present minutes offered opportunity to witness final
occurrences within the room where Harry had been placed. He believed that
something would occur after a given time-space; for Dorth had not remained to
stop the mechanism when it had run its course.
     More minutes passed; The Shadow estimated a full ten from the time when he
had drawn Harry from the trap.
     Then two lingering minutes, slower than the others, while vivid light
blazed from the ceiling, hotter than a desert sun. The cell crackled with the
torrid blaze. The air before The Shadow's eyes was wavery. It ended when a
muffled click came from the floor of the cell. The glow of the ceiling faded;
simultaneously, the cell floor moved.


     IMPELLED by a hidden mechanism, the floor dropped downward. Below, plain by
the dimming ceiling light, The Shadow saw a stone-walled pit. Dropping to the
edge of the cell, he peered to the bottom.
     In a dungeon space beneath, he saw the whitish phosphorescence of human
bones.
     Slanted on one side, a leering skull grinned upward. Another skull showed
face downward. The Shadow saw other rounded objects of the same size. He knew
that the bodies of more than two victims had been dropped into that terrible
pit. Flesh had soon departed from the skeletons of dried and withered victims
who had suffered the torture of the radioactive light.
     The Shadow saw the fate that had been intended for Harry Vincent. But he
did not spend his full time in contemplating the gruesome contents of the pit.
The Shadow noted the trap that had swung downward in the floor. He saw that it
was heavily hinged; but on one side only.
     Another click; the floor was coming upward.
     Bending downward, The Shadow looked beneath the side wall toward which the
loose end of the trap was moving. There, he saw the shine of metal; two
switches, side by side. Next to them, The Shadow distinguished an object that
looked like a bar of metal; against it, set in a notch, an arrow indicator.
     The Shadow saw this by lowering his shoulders below the normal level of the
floor. He was forced to bob upward and swing clear as the trap came into its
usual position. The floor locked. The Shadow tested it with a pound of his
gloved fist.
     A weird laugh, repressed, came from hidden lips as The Shadow emerged from
the cell where only feeble light remained. By the last glow, he could see a
narrow space, no more than a quarter inch, between the locked end of the floor
and the wall above it. The Shadow knew how the trap had been set.
     Stepping to Dorth's desk, he searched and found the metal instrument with
the hooked end. He knew that Dorth had used this to probe beneath the cell wall
- to pull one switch that would start the light; to set the indicator on a time
device that would throw back the light switch and release the trap door for
immediate burial of a victim's body.
     The second switch was there to control the revolving wall of the study. A
useful device; for it would enable Dorth to use the cell as a secret room from
which he could depart when he chose. By its use, Dorth could hide away and
return the study to normal, open to a search by any chance intruders.


     THE SHADOW had gained the facts he wanted. He pressed the switch on the
wall behind Dorth's desk. The turntable room revolved; while it moved, The
Shadow again approached the limp, motionless form of Harry Vincent.
     Raising Harry, he laid him over one shoulder. When the room had completed
its circuit, The Shadow opened the door to the anteroom.
     Gun in his free hand, ready for chance battle, The Shadow advanced along
the passage. At the end he stopped; he heard voices in the front hall. Glidden
had arrived; Tardon was speaking to him as they walked toward the far wing of
the house. Tardon was telling the chauffeur that he was wanted in the
laboratory.
     The Shadow stepped silently across the great hall; Tardon and Glidden had
passed from sight. The Shadow reached the door and opened it while he dangled
the automatic with one finger. He swung Harry past; then closed the door. Before
The Shadow was clear of the porte-cochere, he heard the grind of bolts. Tardon
had returned to lock the front door.
     The night air revived Harry. He spoke feebly as The Shadow placed him in
the car below the house. The Shadow gave Harry a taste from the little bottle.
     As the coupe coasted down the slope, Harry murmured incoherent words. As
the motor purred, near the bottom of the hill, the sound aroused Harry to new
effort.
     In gasping tone, The Shadow's agent voiced the words:
     "Farradon - another victim - like Rune! James Farradon - he came today.
Dorth told him - to call Jadway - New York apartment house -"
     Harry subsided; the effort had overcome him. With his gasped statement, he
had managed to deliver belated word of coming crime.
     The Shadow had learned that new death threatened.


     CHAPTER IX

     NEW TRAGEDY

     AT the precise time of The Shadow's departure from the mansion on the hill,
two men were seated in the living room of a small penthouse in Manhattan. One
was James Farradon, attired in the same frock coat that he had worn during the
day.
     The other was the owner of the penthouse - a long-faced chap who wore a
tuxedo and who held a half-filled glass while he lounged in an easy chair.
     Whenever James Farradon made friends, he chose persons of wealth. This
penthouse owner was a man who had money. His name was Carton Thurleigh; his
principal occupation in life was the squandering of a fortune that he had
acquired from a rich uncle.
     Farradon had met Thurleigh on a Mediterranean cruise; and had received an
invitation to stop at the latter's penthouse whenever he happened to come to New
York. This was the first time that he had accepted the invitation.
     Farradon, though wealthy, was miserly. He cared little for Thurleigh's
company; but he had accepted the idler's invitation to stay at the penthouse
because it saved him the expense of a hotel. That was a large item, because
Farradon liked luxury. Despite his stinginess, he always stopped at the best
hotels.
     Thurleigh was the opposite of Farradon. The idler spent money freely; made
friends wherever he went. He liked to have guests at his penthouse; Farradon was
not the first chance acquaintance whom he had invited here. Thurleigh, however,
never let guests interfere with his own plans.
     "Sorry, I've got to go out tonight," drawled Thurleigh, from his easy
chair. "The place is yours, though, Farradon. Make yourself right at home.
Plenty of drinks in the refrigerator, any time you want one."
     "Thanks," returned Farradon. "You don't mind if I invite another chap here,
to talk over some business?"
     "You mean that fellow Jadway? The one you've been trying to get in touch
with all evening?"
     "Yes."
     "Invite him here, if you can get hold of him. Maybe you'd better give his
apartment another buzz, right now."
     Farradon nodded, deciding that the idea was a good one. From the inside
pocket at the left of his coat he produced his gold cigarette case. Opening it,
he discovered that he had smoked the last cigarette.
     Thurleigh noted it; the idler picked up a cigarette box from the table
beside him.
     "Have one of these, Farradon."
     Farradon started to reach for a cigarette; then shook his head. He did not
care for the brand that Thurleigh smoked.
     "I have another pack in my overcoat," he remarked. "It will fill my
cigarette case. The new supply will be sufficient for this evening."


     FARRADON stepped to a little entry, found his overcoat and brought out a
package of cigarettes. He opened it, extracted a cigarette and placed it in his
holder. He lighted the cigarette; then continued to open the pack farther.
     He stowed all the cigarettes in his cigarette case and slipped the latter
back into his left inside pocket.
     Crumpling the emptied cigarette pack, Farradon tossed it into a metal
wastebasket. It landed there with a slight plunk that made Thurleigh stare from
his chair.
     The idler watched Farradon pick up the telephone and dial Jadway's number.
Farradon held a brief, impatient conversation; then hung up the receiver.
     "It was that dumb valet again," he told Thurleigh. "He says that when
Jadway arrives, he will give him this address. But the fellow doesn't seem to
remember it properly."
     "Better keep calling," remarked Thurleigh, rising from his chair. "Well,
I'll be on my way. Maybe the party won't amount to much. If it doesn't, I'll
come back here."
     Thurleigh left the penthouse. Farradon strolled about the living room;
stopped by the window to study the glitter of Manhattan's lights. This
penthouse offered a magnificent vista that terminated with the broad, twinkling
expanse of Central Park.
     Mumbling to himself, Farradon calculated the amount that he would have had
to pay for a suite of rooms in a hotel that was similarly located.
     A dozen minutes passed. Farradon strolled across the living room and picked
up the telephone. He hesitated a few moments; then decided to make another call
to Jadway's apartment.
     Though Farradon did not know it, his life was suspended in the balance.
That telephone call was to prove a grim mistake.
     Farradon turned the dial. He received a busy signal. Impatiently, he hung
up; dialed again. This time, he heard the ring of a bell. A jerky voice
answered; it was Jadway's Japanese valet.
     "Hello!" Farradon spoke snappily. "Any word from Mr. Jadway?... What's
that?... You say he called this apartment twice?
     "What was his idea?... Didn't you give him my address the first time?...
What is that?... Ah, you say he is coming here, after he puts his car away?
Good!... What? You say he told you that after he made his first call?
     "Then why did he call again?... You don't know, eh?... The telephone
number? I see. He asked for my telephone number when he made the second call.
Then perhaps I shall hear from him before he comes here..."


     FARRADON hung up the receiver; walked toward the window. This was to prove
his final mistake. As he reached the window, the telephone rang. Someone had
been trying to get the penthouse; Farradon's own call had delayed the incoming
one.
     Had he still been close by the telephone, Farradon would have found no
trouble in answering the ring. As it was, he had thirty feet to go; and that
space was to prove formidable.
     Farradon paused to extinguish a cigarette in an ash tray He started toward
the ringing telephone; then halted.
     A sudden pain had struck him above the heart. It was like a knife thrust.
Farradon winced; then continued his pace toward the telephone. As he reached it,
another pain staggered him. He doubled; waited a few moments; finally lifted the
receiver.
     "Hello." Farradon's voice was weak. "Yes, this is Mr. Farradon... What's
that?"
     Wincing from another pang, Farradon managed to gasp a response to
instructions that came across the wire:
     "What's that? Get - get rid of my cigarette case? Take - take it from -
from my pocket - at once -"
     The receiver slipped from Farradon's fingers. Gripped by another pain, the
greedy-faced man sagged against the wall. Dominated by a sudden horror, Farradon
thrust his right hand to his left inner pocket. He plucked at the metal
cigarette case. It slipped from his touch.
     Pangs were overpowering; but Farradon kept on with his effort. He managed
to pull the cigarette case halfway from his pocket. A thrust of pain made him
quiver; his fingers lost their hold and the cigarette case settled back inside
his coat.
     That was the end of Farradon's attempt. Clawing the air helplessly, he
slumped to the floor and writhed there in agony. In his twists, he knocked over
the telephone table. His hoarse shrieks sounded in the mouthpiece of the
telephone as it lay upon the floor. With a final cry, Farradon rolled upon his
back and lay still.
     A click answered from the telephone receiver. The speaker at the other end
had hung up. The author of the all-important warning knew that James Farradon
was dead.


     IT was half an hour before a new sound disturbed the secluded penthouse.
This noise was scarcely audible. It came from the door outside the entry. The
knob turned; the door opened to show a figure clad in black.
     The Shadow had come to this spot of death. Closing the door, he stepped
forward to survey the body of James Farradon.
     Distorted in death, Farradon's face showed the agony that he had undergone.
His worst pangs had come immediately after The Shadow's call. Had Farradon
managed to heed The Shadow's instructions, his life would have been saved; for
deadly burns had then taken no more than a preliminary effect.
     It was The Shadow who had called Jadway's apartment the second time; in
disguised tone, he had talked to the Japanese valet, who had mistaken The
Shadow's call for another from Jadway. From Harry Vincent, The Shadow had
learned of Farradon's cigarette case, while they were riding to the nearest
telephone.
     All this had been futile. The blame was squarely upon Professor Lycurgus
Dorth. The Shadow's next task would be to deal with the murderous inventor. To
handle Dorth effectively, it would be wise to offset all details of the
murderer's schemes.
     One of Dorth's plans was to force a trail to Jadway, so hot that the
swindler would deem it wise to flee. There were two ways to counteract that
portion of Dorth's campaign.
     One was to keep Farradon's death a mystery, thus keeping Jadway temporarily
secure, to be dealt with later as a swindler who deserved punishment. The other
was to turn Jadway over to the law, thus forcing him to confess what he knew
about Dorth.
     Of the two plans, The Shadow chose the first. He knew that Jadway's arrest
might be quickly learned by Dorth, in which case the murderer could decamp. It
was preferable to keep Jadway free from suspicion, since he had played no actual
part in murder.
     Thus decided, The Shadow raised the overturned telephone table, placed the
telephone upon it and hung up the receiver. Stooping above Farradon's twisted
body, The Shadow saw the edge of the gold cigarette case, sparkling in the glow
from the living room. He drew the case from the dead man's pocket; turning, he
shielded it in the folds of his cloak.
     The case revealed no glow; but when The Shadow opened it, he saw a strip of
phosphorescent light. That luminous stretch was a single cigarette. The Shadow
plucked it from among the others. Turning toward the light of the living room,
he held the cigarette between his fingers. It glowed no longer.
     Tearing open the cigarette, The Shadow found a quantity of grayish powder,
that poured into his gloved palm. The ends of the cigarette were stuffed with
tobacco, to cover the powdery substances that lay between.
     This was another dose of Professor Dorth's actinium compound. It had done
its work, like the powder in the fountain pen that Van Bryck had exchanged for
the one that Prescott Rune carried.


     THE SHADOW folded the actinium powder in a small piece of paper that he
found in the wastebasket. There, also, he saw the wadded remains of Farradon's
cigarette pack.
     Lifting the wad, The Shadow noted that it was unusually heavy. He found the
answer. This cigarette pack had been wrapped with special lead foil.
     That inner wrapper had served to retain the actinium rays. The radioactive
compound had taken no effect upon Farradon until he had opened the cigarette
pack and placed the cigarettes in his case. The rays that could not pass through
lead were able to penetrate other metals.
     Thus Farradon's death had simply been deferred an essential part of Dorth's
policy, since the professor wanted Farradon to remain alive until evening.
     The Shadow used a portion of the lead foil to wrap the bit of paper in
which he had placed the powder. Though the radioactive effect had dwindled, it
was best to keep it ineffective.
     As he viewed Farradon's body, The Shadow understood how well Dorth had
planned the death. The professor had estimated that it would probably be a while
before new murder would be uncovered. By that time, his actinium powder would be
as traceless as it had been with Rune.
     Just as Dorth had known the type of fountain pen that Rune carried, so had
he known the brand of cigarettes that Farradon smoked. Van Bryck had made a
perfect switch of fountain pens. Similarly, the technician had easily planted a
cigarette pack on Farradon, letting the new victim think that the cigarettes
were his own.
     Harry Vincent had failed to detect Van Bryck's moves. That was not to
Harry's discredit; he had not known that Dorth planned murder for either Rune or
Farradon.
     The Shadow was ready for departure. He halted, however, before stepping
through the entry. The Shadow had latched the door of the penthouse; sounds told
him that someone had arrived there. A key was rattling in the lock.
     Gliding back into the living room, The Shadow saw a convenient doorway that
led to a bedroom. Stationing himself in darkness, he waited. He heard the door
of the penthouse open; caught the sound of footsteps, then an excited cry.
     A man came into the light of the living room and stood transfixed as he
gazed at Farradon's body.
     The arrival was Carton Thurleigh; The Shadow recognized that he must be the
owner of the penthouse. Thurleigh had seen Farradon's body the moment that he
opened the door; he had swung the door half shut and had bounded forward to
study the sprawled form.
     Thurleigh's observation was sufficient to tell him that Farradon had met a
violent death. The murdered man's face bore signs that told a silent story of
his horrible end.


     THE SHADOW watched Thurleigh look about the living room. Seeing no one,
Thurleigh picked up the telephone. He lifted the receiver; with a shaky finger,
he dialed the operator. The Shadow heard him speak:
     "Get me police headquarters!"
     As he called his brief statement, Thurleigh turned to stare through the
entry. The Shadow saw him drop the receiver on its hook; let the telephone drop
back upon the table.
     Thurleigh's hands came up; shakily, the tuxedoed man backed across the
living room. Footsteps followed him. A broad-shouldered, bull-faced man came
into view, holding a leveled revolver.
     It was Ursus Jadway. The swindler had taken time to leave his car in the
garage; after some delay, he had come directly to Thurleigh's penthouse, in
order to meet James Farradon. Jadway had found the door open; he had overheard
the beginning of Thurleigh's call to the police.
     There was a glare upon Jadway's face that marked him as a crook who could
resort to more desperate tactics than those used by a swindler. The grip that he
held upon his gun was proof that murder would be to his liking.
     Steadily, The Shadow drew an automatic from beneath his cloak; leveled his
own .45 toward Jadway.
     So long as the swindler failed to pull the trigger of his revolver, he
would live. Should he attempt to riddle Thurleigh, Jadway would die. The Shadow
was prepared to deliver halting bullets the instant that Jadway's trigger finger
showed a quiver.


     CHAPTER X

     CROOKS THRUST

     "YOUR name is Thurleigh?"
     Jadway purred the question as he covered the penthouse owner. The
swindler's words were a contrast to his manner. It was one of Jadway's swindle
methods, that suave way of talking; but it did not sound effective from a man
who brandished a revolver.
     Thurleigh, however, had no better choice than to reply. The shock of
finding Farradon's body had passed; Thurleigh was calm enough to face Jadway's
gun.
     "Yes," he announced, "I am Carton Thurleigh."
     "I thought so," remarked Jadway. "So James Farradon was a friend of yours.
That's Farradon, I suppose, lying there on the floor."
     A sudden gleam came to Thurleigh's eyes. He remembered a reference that
Farradon had made to Ursus Jadway. Farradon had stated that he had never met the
man who was to come here tonight. Recalling that statement, Thurleigh blurted:
     "You are Ursus Jadway?"
     Jadway glared. Thurleigh regretted his question. He realized suddenly that
it would have been good policy to pretend that he had never heard of Jadway.
     "Yes, I'm Ursus Jadway," voiced the swindler. "What else did Farradon tell
you?"
     "Nothing," stated Thurleigh. "He simply said that he expected you here
tonight. That is why he kept calling your apartment. Your Japanese valet was the
person who answered."
     "Who else did Farradon mention?"
     "I told you that he said nothing else. He kept his business to himself."
     Jadway considered Thurleigh's statement; decided that the languid man was
speaking the truth. After a pause, he questioned:
     "Why were you calling the police?"
     Thurleigh managed a forced laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.
     "After all, Mr. Jadway," he commented, "when a man comes home unexpectedly
and finds a guest dead on the premises, he is required to notify the law."
     "And just what else," queried Jadway, "did you intend to tell the police?"
     This time, Thurleigh thought out a reply.
     "I intended to say nothing," he declared, "unless questioned. I suppose,
under ordinary circumstances, that I should mention the fact that Farradon
telephoned you. If you can offer a good reason why I should not do so -"
     "I can do that," inserted Jadway, abruptly. "Frankly, Mr. Thurleigh, my own
life has been in danger. That is why I carry a revolver. I had reason to believe
that Farradon was in danger; that is the reason for my visit here. Finding
Farradon dead - seeing you beside the body - I naturally took you for the
murderer."


     JADWAY'S statements were jerky; he was thinking them out while he went
along. Thurleigh, annoyed by Jadway's charge, made the mistake of a sarcastic
remark.
     "Naturally, you thought I murdered Farradon," he said. "You found me
telephoning the police."
     Jadway's heavy brows furrowed angrily. He was maddened by Thurleigh's
sarcasm. Fiercely, Jadway queried:
     "You think that I have lied? You think that because I came here, I was
responsible for Farradon's death? Perhaps you think that I -"
     Jadway stopped short. Thurleigh was moving forward, an eager gleam upon his
face. Almost mechanically, the man was uttering the thoughts that had flashed
through his brain.
     "Murder at the Hotel Moreland!" exclaimed Thurleigh. "Prescott Rune, the
dead man who had a visitor! A visitor with bushy eyebrows, the clerk testified -
a man with a heavy voice -"
     Thurleigh was describing Jadway, and the words made the swindler jittery.
Jadway backed away instinctively, despite the fact that he held a gun in his
hand. Thurleigh's voice stopped; madly, the languid man leaped for Jadway.
     It was a smart move. Thurleigh caught Jadway off guard. Moreover, he showed
a speed that Jadway had not expected. Thurleigh was upon the swindler, too quick
for Jadway to take new aim. The two locked in a vicious struggle, Thurleigh
jabbing Jadway's gun arm toward the ceiling.
     As they wrestled, Jadway drove the gun muzzle at Thurleigh's head.
Thurleigh dodged; lost his footing. He sprawled to the floor. Leaping away,
almost to the center of the room, Jadway aimed toward his sprawled opponent.
     A sharp hiss sounded from the side of the room. Looking up before he fired,
Jadway saw the rounded mouth of an automatic; above it, burning eyes that viewed
him from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.
     The swindler was faced by The Shadow. Jadway had heard of that formidable
foe. He let his revolver clatter to the floor.
     The Shadow stepped forward. His whispered tone was sinister. Jadway
shuddered as he raised his arms.
     "Speak!" commanded The Shadow. "Tell all you know about James Farradon.
State why he was here in New York. Tell where he came from; name the cause of
his death."
     "I'll - I'll talk!" gulped Jadway. "Only - only, I can't tell much. I never
met Farradon while he was alive. I didn't -"
     Jadway hesitated. Through his brain flashed the very idea that The Shadow
had sought to place there. Jadway suddenly believed that The Shadow knew nothing
of Professor Dorth and the mansion on the Westchester hill.
     Jadway saw sudden advantage through flight. He wanted to bluff The Shadow;
to stage a get-away. That was precisely what The Shadow wanted. His intervention
had saved Carton Thurleigh; the sooner that Jadway departed, the better. The
Shadow was paving the way for Jadway's flight, even though the crook did not
realize it.


     JADWAY saw only that the path to the door was clear. He began a sideways
shift, blubbering as he tried to edge into the entry.
     The Shadow let Jadway get clear of the gun muzzle, knowing that the man
would bolt when he saw opportunity. Jadway made a more perceptible shift;
tightened for a spring toward the door.
     It was Thurleigh who spoiled the situation. The rescued man had risen from
the floor. He had seen The Shadow; then he had looked toward Jadway, to observe
that the swindler was unarmed.
     As Jadway made a final shift, Thurleigh guessed his move. With a shout,
Thurleigh sprang forward, just as Jadway darted for the entry.
     Again the enemies locked. They came spinning toward The Shadow; they rolled
to the floor. Stepping aside, The Shadow placed himself between them and the
entry, for it offered the best vantage point. He was ready to let Jadway by, if
the swindler managed to get free; but all the while, The Shadow saw a possible
menace.
     The two strugglers had rolled close to Jadway's gun. There was a chance
that one might grasp it.
     Jadway made the first clutch and missed. Thurleigh did better. He grabbed
up the gun; juggled it with his fingers. Jadway gave a fierce, wild shout. That
bullish bellow could have been directed to the doorway, for Jadway was staring
straight toward The Shadow. Jadway's cry was more than one of mere alarm.
     The Shadow wheeled - not an instant too soon.
     As he faced the doorway, The Shadow saw the door swing inward. Tough faces
glared from the hall; past the shoulders of two thugs, The Shadow saw a visage
that he recognized. It was the face of a dangerous mob leader: Silk Marron!
     Ursus Jadway had contacted his henchmen while en route to the penthouse.
The swindler had told the strong-arm squad to follow. Silk and the gorillas had
arrived in time to hear Jadway's shout. They were on hand with ready guns. They
recognized The Shadow as the adversary who blocked their path.


     TONGUES of flame ripped through the entry. Red-hot bullets seared from the
blasting guns. But Silk and his squad were not the first to fire. The Shadow had
opened proceedings with a spurt from his .45.
     As he fired, The Shadow faded. His hand, however, held its aim, booming an
unerring barrage.
     The Shadow's bullets found the two front thugs. They fired as they fell,
those evil fighters; but their shots were wasted. Bullets whined above The
Shadow's drooping shoulders; the slugs shivered the windows that fronted on
Central Park. Jadway and Thurleigh, rolling on the floor, were below the line of
fire.
     Silk Marron did not wait for a taste of The Shadow's lead. As his shielding
henchmen fell away in front of him, Silk made a dive for the hall. Other thugs
stampeded toward the elevator. They knew that death awaited them along the
narrow passage that The Shadow guarded.
     Before pursuing, The Shadow whirled about, to see how matters stood with
Jadway and Thurleigh. Jadway had clutched the muzzle of the revolver; he was
tugging the gun from Thurleigh's fingers. The Shadow sprang for Jadway, just as
the swindler wrested free and came to his feet.
     Savagely, Jadway struck at The Shadow with the reversed revolver.
Sidestepping, The Shadow aimed. Jadway sprang for the entry. Thurleigh, coming
up, acted in a wild, blind fashion. He grabbed the first person in his path: The
Shadow.
     Sprawling under Thurleigh's blind attack, The Shadow gave a hard lunge with
his shoulders, to send the bewildered man rolling across the floor. Jadway had
leaped over Farradon's body. At the door, he managed to reverse the revolver,
hoping to aim at The Shadow.
     On, hands and knees, The Shadow tongued an automatic blast that splintered
woodwork beside Jadway's ear. It was The Shadow's last bullet; but Jadway did
not guess it. The Shadow was cagey enough not to reach for a fresh automatic at
the moment.
     Still seeing a muzzle pointed toward him, Jadway dived away. He ran for the
closing door of an elevator; Silk spied him from within and yanked the door
open. An instant later, The Shadow swung out from the penthouse door; but Jadway
had already gained the elevator and was sliding the metal door shut.
     The Shadow fired parting shots with a fresh gun. They flattened against the
closed door of the elevator. The dial showed the elevator in descent.
     The Shadow did not return to the doorway of the penthouse. He could hear an
excited voice within; it was Thurleigh, recovered but weaponless, calling the
police. Two bodies lay on the floor of the hall; the forms of those thugs would
support Thurleigh's story of the gun fray.
     Jadway had escaped, as The Shadow wanted. Unfortunately, the law would be
hard upon the swindler's trail, a situation that The Shadow had hoped could be
postponed. To offset that, however, would be the fact that Jadway would not
delay in flight. He would be smart enough not to return to his apartment.
     Confident that Ursus Jadway would have time to manage a get away, The
Shadow knew that matters would rest as he wanted them, so far as Professor
Lycurgus Dorth was concerned. That was the vital issue. The murderer came first
in The Shadow's plea for action.


     FINDING a stairway, The Shadow made a speedy descent. This apartment
building was a low one, only eight stories in height. The Shadow reached a rear
street; he was moving off through darkness when he heard the whine of an
approaching radio car, coming to Thurleigh's call.
     Jadway and Silk had made good their flight. Professor Dorth, when he
learned the news, would feel confident and secure. All was prepared for The
Shadow's next visit to the lonely mansion on the hill.


     CHAPTER XI

     THRUSTS IN THE DARK

     MIDNIGHT was long past. Professor Dorth's lonely mansion stood silent
beneath the moonlight, a ghostly edifice despite the solidity of its grim, gray
walls. Every light within that mansion had been extinguished. The occupants were
asleep.
     Beneath the moonlight, a solitary figure viewed the old mansion. Cloaked in
black, this visitant seemed as spectral as the house which he so carefully
observed. He looked like a ghostly being, come to haunt the mansion of murder.
     The Shadow had returned, prepared for a sojourn within Dorth's stronghold.
His car lay hidden near a road at the bottom of the hill. The Shadow had crept
up the slope on foot. His present pause was made with purpose. The Shadow was
studying the old house, looking for the best mode of entry.
     Outside walls offered no direct opportunity; for their windows were barred.
The Shadow knew, however, that there were inner windows facing the courtyard.
They would probably offer a means of entrance, if they could be reached.
Therefore, The Shadow's task was to scale the outside wall.
     Darkness sheltered the near side of the house, for the moon had passed
beyond the grim building. The near side, in which the turret was located, was
only two stories in height. It offered the shortest route over the roof.
     When he had picked the spot he wanted, The Shadow advanced. He reached the
point where the turret joined the rear annex.
     This connection was made to The Shadow's order. The rounded wall ended
against a square end of stone. This offered a triangular space, with surfaces on
each side. In total darkness, The Shadow began an upward climb.
     At the top, The Shadow rested upon the conical surface of the turret roof.
To his right was the wall of the annex, a story higher. Straight ahead was the
higher wing on the opposite side of the inner court. It did not quite block the
light from the descending moon; peering downward, The Shadow could see unbarred
windows within the courtyard.
     The junction between rounded turret and square-ended annex was the same
within the courtyard as on the outside wall. Easing from the turret roof; The
Shadow began a steady descent.
     His form was only momentarily visible in the moonlight; Once within the
triangular wall space, The Shadow became a blotted shape. When he reached the
courtyard, he was in a blackened pit, free to move at will.


     THE SHADOW chose a basement window at the rear of the building. From
statements made by Harry Vincent, he knew that the laboratory was located there.
The Shadow found grated windows; but the fastenings were loose. Dorth had
evidently deemed it unnecessary to make continued inspection of gratings that
were located within the courtyard.
     In total darkness, The Shadow silently loosened the bars. The job was
perfect; when he pressed the laboratory window inward, he was able to draw the
grating shut behind him and jam its rusted fastenings into place. He closed the
window; found a shade above it. He drew the blind; then moved about the
laboratory and pulled down other shades.
     Using a flashlight, The Shadow found a light switch. He pressed it; the
laboratory filled with light. The Shadow began an inspection of Dorth's
mechanical equipment.
     After examining the machines that Harry Vincent had seen, The Shadow came
to a workbench. Upon it, he saw a pair of cloth gloves that had once been white;
their present color was a dull, silvery gray.
     The gloves were dry; they were flexible under The Shadow's touch; but when
he lifted them, The Shadow found them heavy.
     Van Bryck's talk of a chemical formula had not been mere bluff. The
technician had actually given these gloves a protective treatment in a lead
solution, so that they could be used in the handling of radioactive substances.
     Looking below the workbench, The Shadow saw a rounded jar with a flat glass
top half off it. The jar was nearly filled with a dull-colored liquid.
     Dipping a black-gloved finger into the solution, The Shadow raised it to
the light. The liquid slowly penetrated the thin cloth; it dried while The
Shadow watched it. It did no more than give a slightly grayish shimmer to the
blackness of The Shadow's glove.
     Moving away from the workbench, The Shadow looked along the laboratory
shelves. He found labeled bottles, discovered lead containers; but these were
empty. He approached the safe in the corner; removed his left-hand glove and
tested the combination with long, sensitive fingers.
     This old-fashioned safe was easy to The Shadow's expert touch. It swung
open within three minutes.
     Inside, The Shadow found the wooden box, no longer sealed. He took out its
lead casket, opened it and studied the powder that was inside. Shielding the
front of the safe, The Shadow gained enough darkness to view the powder as
effectively as with a dark lens. He turned the casket; tilted it, to let the
powder shift.
     The Shadow laughed softly; his mirth was muffled by the confines of the
safe. He noted that the glow of the powder was like a nebula, that shifted every
time he jarred the casket. As he closed the casket and replaced it, The Shadow
had the complete answer to the methods used by Professor Lycurgus Dorth.


     THE old inventor was unquestionably a genius, who had a full knowledge of
radioactive compounds and their reactions. He had developed actinium compounds
that could kill - as demonstrated in the cases of Rune and Farradon. His light,
in the secret room off the study, was also a deadly device; dependent, probably,
upon a compound of thorium, a radioactive element more sustained than actinium.
     But Professor Dorth had discovered nothing that could compare with radium.
His talk of a synthetic powder was pure fake. The contents of the lead casket
consisted of a pulverized compound into which Professor Dorth had introduced a
mere speck of true radium. The valueless powder absorbed the radium emanations
and thus produced a glow that could continue for months or years.
     James Farradon had fallen for the game simply because he had thought the
entire quantity of powder to be radioactive. He had been wise enough to know
that Professor Dorth could not possibly own a quantity of radium equal to the
amount of powder in the casket.
     Farradon had not guessed the real facts. The Shadow had discovered the
truth by his experiments with the casket. He had shifted the minute bit of
radium and had seen the center of the glowing powder change.
     Dorth had duped Prescott Rune; had swindled him of two hundred thousand
dollars. He had bluffed James Farradon to the tune of a quarter million. Both
men had thought Dorth honest; they had kept their transactions secret. Dorth had
ended their lives to cover up his crookedness.
     Since Dorth had swindled two victims, it was quite likely that there could
be a third; perhaps even more. That was why the old inventor remained in his
secluded mansion. Spider-like, he was waiting for new victims to enter his web.
Other dupes would come here, to be sent away to a mysterious death.
     Rune and Farradon had arrived on successive days. Tomorrow, a third victim
would probably appear. That was the time which The Shadow must await. He wanted
to do more than finish Dorth's career of crime.
     The Shadow was anxious to learn the identity of a prospective victim whose
case resembled these of Rune and Farradon. Such a man, if free to tell his story
to the law, would be able to expose Dorth's past. The deaths of Rune and
Farradon would be laid to the villain who had contrived the murders.
     To remain in this mansion would be a simple task, except for one factor.
That was Tardon. The huge, ape-faced servant was a veritable watchdog. He had
nearly spotted The Shadow in the darkness of the anteroom, earlier tonight.
Chances were that wherever The Shadow prowled, Tardon might appear.


     THERE was one hiding place where the apish servant would never look. That
was the secret death-room, beyond the wall of Dorth's turntable study. That
room, however, was scarcely a suitable hiding place for The Shadow. Once within
it, he could never know when Dorth came into the study.
     It would be better to look for other hiding places; to be prepared to move
from one to another, outwitting Tardon if the man became suspicious. As
preliminary to this policy, The Shadow decided to roam the house; to choose
prominent points for his campaign of secrecy. Ready for such procedure, he
extinguished the laboratory lights and raised the shades.
     Moving from the laboratory, The Shadow stole along the first floor corridor
of the three-story wing. He used his flashlight guardedly. He found several
spots that offered useful haven. One was a closet beneath an old stairway.
Another was a short entry that led to a barred side door.
     Reaching the living room, The Shadow found deep recesses at each side of
the fireplace. These were excellent hiding places. Even with a fire burning, no
glow would reach to those obscure and inconspicuous depths.
     Moving through the darkened hallway, The Shadow silently ascended a
stairway to the second floor. Feeling his way through darkness, he met closed
doors. He discovered one that was partly opened. It led to a long corridor. When
opened, the door offered a hiding place behind it. This was a valuable
discovery.
     Midway along the passage, The Shadow halted. His keen ears had heard the
creak of a floor board. The Shadow listened; he caught a closer sound. Ominous
silence followed; during it, The Shadow pressed against a wall, found a door and
silently opened it.
     Probing with one hand, he touched a wall. The space was an empty clothes
closet between two rooms. The Shadow closed the door, all but a tiny crack. He
listened.
     There were no more creaks. Instead, there was a sudden click. Lights came
on along the hall, revealing the very spot where The Shadow had so recently
been. The Shadow heard a loud grunt from the front of the corridor. Immediately,
a door opened from somewhere along the hall. A gruff voice questioned:
     "What's up, Tardon?"
     There was a reply from the front of the corridor. It came in Tardon's
voice; he was the man who had turned on the lights and delivered the warning
grunt.
     "Somebody's in the house," growled Tardon. "Get the rest of the men while I
tell the professor."


     THE SHADOW heard footsteps in the corridor; he peered from the clothes
closet to see a brawny ruffian in trousers and pajama jacket, pounding upon a
door. The man moved along and hammered at another barrier.
     The Shadow was learning facts that Harry Vincent had not uncovered. Tardon
was not the only servant in this mansion. Dorth had a staff of at least five
more.
     Mumbled voices sounded from rooms. The pounding man called through a
doorway:
     "This is Dombrey. Get up, everybody! Tardon thinks some guy is in the
house!"
     Dombrey's back was toward The Shadow. Chancing a look to the front of the
hall, The Shadow saw that Tardon had gone to summon Dorth. Across the hall was a
stairway, the same one that The Shadow had seen on the ground floor. It was
better than the clothes closet.
     The Shadow glided across before Dombrey turned about. He was at the stairs
when Dombrey finished pounding on a door.
     The Shadow's first thought was to go downward; but before he could take a
single step, a voice called from below. It was Van Bryck. The technician slept
on the first floor. Van Bryck was coming up; he had heard Dombrey pounding on
the doors above.
     Quickly, The Shadow took a stairway that led up to the third floor. He
reached a turn and waited.
     Many voices babbled. From the confusion finally came a harsh command. It
was Dorth's voice; the old inventor had come at Tardon's call. Dorth was
overruling objections offered by Van Bryck and Dombrey.
     "Tardon may have imagined he heard someone," declared Dorth. "Any trifling
noise would arouse him, as you say. But if he heard someone in this corridor,
there's only one way the person could have gone. That is to the third floor."
     Growls of approval; then Van Bryck's comment:
     "This side stairway is the only way up. If any one is there, we can trap
him."
     "Right!" agreed Dorth. "Let Tardon go first. The rest of you follow."
     Quickly, The Shadow moved up to the third floor. He had time for a quick
flashlight glow, enough to show him that Van Bryck was correct. This floor had a
corridor and several rooms; but it was cut off from the rest of the house.
     The Shadow made for a room at the end of the corridor. Moonlight showed a
window that opened into the courtyard. Raising it, The Shadow saw a ledge,
narrower than the sole of his shoe. Nevertheless, he stepped out. Gripping the
top of a little roof above the window, he closed the window itself; then swung
to one side.
     He was not an instant too soon. Lights came on within the room. Dorth's
servants, swarming everywhere, were hard upon The Shadow's trail; though only
one of them - Tardon - believed that they were seeking an actual person.
     As he clung to the wall that projected from the roof, The Shadow heard the
window open. A head and shoulders thrust themselves into view. They were
Tardon's. The apish servant was coming out on the roof.


     WARNING words came harshly from within the room. Professor Dorth had
arrived to witness Tardon's action.
     "No need to search farther, Tardon!" called Dorth. "No one would be out
there. That ledge is too narrow for safety. Come back here, Tardon!"
     The servant did not heed his master's shout. Clear out of the window,
Tardon had turned as he gripped the window frame. He had swung straight toward
The Shadow. The moonlight showed the black clad intruder against the roof edge.
     The Shadow shifted. Tardon saw opportunity. He shot one long arm straight
for The Shadow's head; with the other, he grabbed for the beam above the little
window. He caught that projection, close beside The Shadow's hand. Odds were
with Tardon; his free fist, swinging wide, seemed due to clip The Shadow.
     Had The Shadow faded, or tried to duck away, he would have lost his own
hold. Instead, he dodged forward, darting his head beneath Tardon's motionless
arm, the one that served as pivot for the apish fighter's swing.
     Tardon's clouting fist found emptiness. The Shadow, flattening backward,
jabbed his own free hand for the ape-like face. The Shadow, too, was late.
     Tardon had put his whole weight into that long, hard thrust. He had counted
upon an impact to stop the tremendous stroke. The power of his free arm was too
great for the hand that clutched the beam above the window.
     Tardon lost his grip; his foot slipped with it. Clawing wildly, he was
hurtling outward as The Shadow jabbed.
     Luckily, The Shadow had tried a short punch only. Otherwise, he might have
overbalanced himself when he missed. He managed to choke his blow; to retain his
grip above the window.
     As Tardon's squatty body pitched away from the ledge, The Shadow grabbed
the window beam with both hands. Disregarding the noise of his scramble, he
pulled himself up above the long projection of the window.
     Dorth and the others never noticed the scrape of The Shadow's short ascent.
All that they heard was a wild yell that trailed down into the courtyard. A
terrific clatter sounded as Tardon crashed; with it, a dull, bursting sound: the
cracking of the apish man's skull against the cement.
     Professor Dorth peered from the window, stared down into the blackened
depths where the sprawled shape of Tardon formed a dead mass. Dorth looked along
the roof, glanced upward; then pulled his head back into the window. The Shadow
heard him speak to his followers.
     "The fool!" expostulated Dorth. "You heard me tell Tardon to stay off that
ledge. There was no one out there. This is a fine end to a useless chase! Tardon
imagined too much; he paid for it."


     WITH this epitaph to his murderous servant, Dorth snapped instructions to
Dombrey, telling him to go downstairs with the others and bring in Tardon's
body. Footsteps departed from the room.
     After a brief silence, The Shadow swung down from atop the window roof and
slid back through the opening.
     Soon there was noise in the courtyard. Voices echoed while Dombrey and his
companions were carrying Tardon's dead body indoors. The Shadow waited until the
house was stilled, then stole along the third-floor corridor and descended the
stairs.
     He reached the laboratory; there, he removed his hat and cloak in darkness.
Beside them, he laid automatics and other articles that he carried. For a while,
there were slight sounds in the laboratory, while The Shadow moved about.
Finally, all noise ceased.
     The Shadow had chosen a corner where he could take a cat nap until dawn.
     Van Bryck, Dombrey, the others in Dorth's employ - none afforded worry to
The Shadow. He knew that he could easily remain hidden from those blunderers.
Tardon had been the only obstacle to The Shadow's campaign of secret sojourn
within this mansion.
     Through overzeal, Tardon had obligingly eliminated himself as a menace to
The Shadow's plans.


     CHAPTER XII

     DORTH MAKES PLANS

     MORNING dawned cloudy; by mid-afternoon, a drizzle had begun. Professor
Dorth's mansion was half obscured by mist; its interior was as gloomy as at
night. Rooms and corridors were lighted; but, as usual, the glowing lamps were
feeble amid the huge expanses of the great house.
     Dombrey was stationed in the large front hall. He had taken over the duties
of Tardon. There was a contrast, however, between the new servant and the old.
Whenever Dombrey walked about, his footsteps clattered and brought back echoes
from gloomy walls of massive rooms and corridors.
     Only two persons had known the secret of silent motion within this mansion.
One was Tardon; he was dead. The other, The Shadow, was a silent dweller in the
house.
     Secrecy had been as simple as The Shadow had anticipated. Dorth, Van Bryck
and Dombrey were the only ones who walked about the house; every one of the
three gave advance sounds of approach.
     During long intervals, The Shadow calmly reclined in an easy chair,
stationed in an obscure corner of the living room. When he heard footsteps, he
glided to one of the recesses beside the fireplace.
     Professor Dorth had spent most of the day in his study; Van Bryck had been
busy in the laboratory. The first important break came after three o'clock, when
Van Bryck appeared, passed Dombrey in the hall and took the passage toward
Dorth's study.
     The Shadow heard this from his corner chair, where he was out of sight from
the hall. He wanted to follow Van Bryck, but Dombrey was between. Rising, The
Shadow moved silently to the door of the living room, to await any temporary
departure that Dombrey might make.
     While The Shadow watched the burly servant, there was a knock at the front
door. The Shadow remained motionless while Dombrey answered the summons. It was
Glidden; the chauffeur delivered some mail and a newspaper that he had brought
from town. Dombrey closed the front door and bolted it; then started for Dorth's
study.
     This was The Shadow's opportunity. Silently, he followed.
     Dombrey went through the long passage, crossed the anteroom and knocked on
the study door. The Shadow was not far behind. He edged into the anteroom,
behind Dombrey's back; he glided to a corner and crouched there as the door
opened.
     Dombrey delivered the mail and the newspaper to Van Bryck; he started to
turn away, when a call from the study stopped him.
     "Wait, Dombrey!" Professor Dorth spoke from behind his desk. "I may have a
message for Glidden. Wait while I look over the mail."


     THE SHADOW could see Dorth behind the desk, for Dombrey stepped just inside
the study. As the old inventor was opening his letters, he cackled words to Van
Bryck.
     "Go on, Van Bryck," he ordered. "What is it you were about to tell me?"
     "Nothing very important, professor," returned Van Bryck. "It simply
concerns the lead solution. I have discovered that it is subject to rapid
evaporation."
     "Why not?" demanded Dorth. "It dries almost immediately, when applied to
cloth."
     "That would not necessarily signify evaporation," objected Van Bryck. "I
thought that in pure liquid state, the solution would retain its full quantity.
I was wrong."
     "How did you find it out?"
     "I forgot to cover the jar properly last night. This afternoon, I found the
quantity reduced by about fifteen per cent. I would estimate an evaporation rate
of about one per cent an hour -"
     Dorth chuckled an interruption.
     "Never mind the lead solution," he chortled. "Listen to this, Van Bryck. A
letter from Price Wadsford."
     "He will arrive tonight?"
     "Yes, as he promised. He is coming in from Canada. He will arrive on the
Green Mountain Express."
     Van Bryck delivered an exclamation.
     "That's the train that comes down by the branch lines!" he ejaculated. "It
makes a flag stop at our own station, Woodbury, at 10:15."
     "At 10:18, to be exact."
     "How does Wadsford happen to be taking that jerkwater train?"
     Dorth laughed.
     "I suggested it to Wadsford, the last time he was here," said the
professor. "I said that it would be easy for Glidden to meet him at the Woodbury
station. Wadsford will have time for a brief visit; after that, he can take the
late local into New York."
     "A good idea," commended Van Bryck - "having Wadsford come in at Woodbury.
Only one bad feature, though. He may have a Pullman stub in his possession."
     "We can manage to coax that from him," returned Dorth. Then, turning to the
door: "Dombrey, tell Glidden to be on hand. We shall need him."


     DOMBREY departed; Van Bryck came toward the door. Dorth stopped the
technician with a sudden exclamation. The professor had picked up the newspaper.
     "What's the trouble, professor?" queried Van Bryck, anxiously. "Any slip-up
on Farradon?"
     "No," returned Dorth. "It's about Jadway. The police are after him!"
     "For Farradon's murder?"
     "Yes! They found his trail sooner than I expected. Look at this, though,
Van Bryck. Here's something we didn't guess about Jadway. The fellow has a mob."
     Van Bryck stepped to the desk and seized the newspaper. He scanned the
front-page column; then whistled.
     "Silk Marron," he commented. "I've heard of that fellow, professor! I guess
that Silk and his crowd have traveled along with Jadway. That makes it all the
better. Jadway will be regarded as a public enemy. He will be at large for some
time to come. Long enough to be blamed for whatever happens to Wadsford."
     Dorth was restlessly drumming the top of his desk. A far-away glint had
dominated the professor's shrewd eyes.
     "The situation is altered, Van Bryck," decided Dorth. "It is possible that
Jadway has guessed how I double-crossed him. He may realize that I have reaped
profit from his difficulties; that he is the dupe, not I."
     "What of it?" snorted Van Bryck. "He won't be able to blab. The police are
hot after him."
     "He is more than a mere fugitive," declared Dorth. "Jadway has dangerous
henchmen at his disposal."
     "Which means more men to keep under cover -"
     "Exactly!" Dorth pounded the desk as he delivered his exclamation. "What
Jadway needs is a hide-out that is large enough for his band. It must also be a
place where the police will not search."
     "Where can he find it?"
     "Right here. This house would suit him perfectly!"
     The Shadow saw Van Bryck gape at Dorth's statement. To The Shadow, it came
as no surprise. He had already foreseen such a possibility; he had known what
Dorth was leading up to, the moment that the professor began his harangue.
     "Jadway will realize," declared Dorth, "that I have been clever enough to
keep my deeds covered. He will play the fox. I predict, Van Bryck, that Jadway
will come here tonight. He will be mealy-mouthed, pretending that nothing has
happened to him."
     "I doubt it," began Van Bryck. "Jadway will surely know that you have read
the newspapers."
     "He may not be sure of it," objected Dorth. "I have always pretended
ignorance of outside affairs. At least, Jadway will think that he can bluff me."
     "Suppose he does come here?" queried Van Bryck. "Jadway won't risk bringing
his mob, unless he thinks that he can intimidate you. He won't be able to do
that, unless he has something to pin on you. You covered everything when you did
away with Rune and Farradon."


     PROFESSOR DORTH arose and paced the area behind his desk. The old man's
dryish lips curled in angry fashion. He looked toward the door and scowled.
     "That fool Tardon!" he ejaculated. "If he were still alive, I could use
him. He would be the proper outside man, to watch for Jadway, to see if the
fellow brings his followers when he comes."
     Stopping at the desk, Dorth seized pen and paper. He wrote a hurried
scrawl; thrust the message in an envelope. He passed the envelope to Van Bryck.
     "Give it to Glidden," ordered Dorth. "Tell him to go to town, to call Matt
Schedler and repeat what I have written. Glidden can contact Matt after he and
his men arrive."
     The name of Matt Schedler was known to The Shadow, quite as well as that of
Silk Marron. Matt, like Silk, was commander of a gorilla crew; but he had been
quite passive during recent months.
     The reason for Matt's idleness was explained. He was in the pay of
Professor Dorth, sitting back with his crew, waiting for an emergency call.
     "This house is secure," announced Dorth, to Van Bryck, "as long as we have
Dombrey and the other servants in readiness. But we want no trouble here,
particularly from Jadway. If Jadway gets into trouble elsewhere" - Dorth
chuckled, gleefully - "it will not injure us."
     "I understand," smiled Van Bryck. "Matt and his bunch will pick a battle
with Silk's crew."
     "Perhaps," modified Dorth. "The instructions tell Matt what he is to do.
When Glidden contacts him, he will receive his final orders. Go, Van Bryck. Give
the message to Glidden."
     Van Bryck walked through the anteroom. Dorth paced the study; then left the
circular room and followed the passage that the technician had taken.
     Dorth had left the lights on in the study; an indication that he intended a
prompt return. Nevertheless, The Shadow entered. He had time for a brief
inspection.
     From Dorth's desk drawer, The Shadow removed the flat metal tool with the
hooked end. From beneath his cloak, he produced a device that resembled it. The
Shadow had prepared an instrument of his own, during the time that he had spent
in New York, after the encounter with Jadway. He wanted to make a final
comparison.
     In length and thickness, The Shadow's strip of metal was identical with
Dorth's. The Shadow replaced the original in the desk drawer. He moved from the
study; glided rapidly along the passage. As he neared the outer end, he heard
footsteps.
     Each side of the passage entrance had a rounded half-post as an ornament.
The Shadow took the one on the right, for Dorth was coming from that direction.
Behind the half-pillar, The Shadow formed a tall blot, like an extension of the
darkness that was normally there.
     Dorth, chuckling to himself, walked past; his shoulder almost grazed The
Shadow's sleeve. Oblivious to the presence of a living watcher, Dorth walked
along the passage, reached the study and closed the door behind him.


     THE front hall was temporarily deserted; for Van Bryck had sent Dombrey out
to Glidden, with the message. Van Bryck was in the living room, warming himself
before a fire that Dombrey had started. The Shadow took to the main staircase.
     He reached the top; there, he turned to the right and entered the
second-floor passage of the lower wing. This, The Shadow had discovered,
consisted of a corridor with empty rooms.
     Secluded in the upper darkness, The Shadow pondered on the matter of
Dorth's message to Matt Schedler. He analyzed Dorth's situation, critically. He
knew that Dorth preferred to have Jadway at large; hence there would be no
encounter between rival bands unless Jadway ventured in this direction, followed
by Silk Marron and an outfit of thugs.
     Then there would be battle, on the lower ground below this house. A running
fight, with Matt Schedler seeking to draw Silk Marron from the vicinity. The
law, should it intervene, would never suspect that the mob warfare concerned the
old mansion.
     There was another possibility, and The Shadow was confident that Dorth had
foreseen it. That possibility concerned Ursus Jadway alone. There was a chance
that the swindler would come to his house in his usual fashion, unprotected by
Silk Marron and the thugs.
     Jadway did not know that Dorth's house was a trap. Both Rune and Farradon
had died outside. Jadway knew nothing of the torment cell in which Dorth had
murdered various victims, prior to his imprisonment of Harry Vincent.
     If Jadway came alone, would Dorth have Matt Schedler stop him?
     The Shadow received the answer to the question. It came from something that
he had heard Dorth say to Van Bryck. Dorth had mentioned that Glidden would be
used as contact. That meant that Jadway, if he came alone, would be unmolested.
     Glidden would contact Matt Schedler while Jadway was present in the
mansion. Harm would come to Ursus Jadway after he had left Dorth's; not before.
The reason for such policy was plain to The Shadow.
     Dorth, ever canny, could see value in a visit from Jadway; the old
professor was looking forward to a meeting with the swindler, to learn Jadway's
latest impressions concerning the deaths of Rune and Farradon.
     Like Dorth, The Shadow believed that Jadway would arrive tonight. He was
ready, moreover, to gauge the exact time of the visit. It would come soon after
eight o'clock, when darkness had fully settled. That time pleased The Shadow.
     For in his calculations, The Shadow had not forgotten the most important
fact that he had learned by listening in on Dorth and Van Bryck. More vital than
Jadway or rival crews of thugs, was one man whose name and whereabouts had been
mentioned.
     That man was Price Wadsford, due to arrive at 10:18, on the Green Mountain
Express.
     In Price Wadsford, The Shadow saw a man whose case was identical with those
of Prescott Rune and James Farradon; a potential victim who had already been
swindled of wealth by Professor Dorth, and who was scheduled to die on that
account. Tonight, The Shadow had gotten a forewarning of crime.
     Whatever else might be required in way of strategy or action, The Shadow
would keep careful check on his most important plan. That plan was to pluck
Price Wadsford, the scheduled victim, from the threatening toils of Professor
Dorth.


     CHAPTER XIII

     JADWAY TAKES THE BAIT

     EIGHT o'clock had passed. Only a few minutes had ticked by since the hour
at which The Shadow expected Ursus Jadway to arrive. From a corner at the head
of the stairs, The Shadow could discern a single, obscure figure in the great
hall.
     It was Dombrey, stationed there in case a visitor should arrive. The man
seemed alert, as if listening for something. The Shadow knew that Professor
Dorth had also guessed eight o'clock as the time for Jadway to appear, and had
told Dombrey to be ready.
     The Shadow had given thought to Jadway's probable action; he had decided
that Jadway would come here alone. Even though he might plan a capture of the
mansion, as a hide-out for Silk Marron and the crew, Jadway would first require
knowledge of how matters stood at the mansion.
     He could gain that best by a usual sort of visit, with a friendly chat
between himself and Professor Dorth.
     A distant sound reached The Shadow's ears. It was the purr of a car motor,
on the hill. Dombrey heard it; he strained to listen.
     With a grunted laugh, Dombrey went to the front door. He stood there
waiting. Dombrey intended to lose no time when he admitted Ursus Jadway.
     The Shadow moved downward on the stairs. He reached the bottom, undetected
by Dombrey, who was listening at the door. A rumble sounded outside; a motor
stopped.
     As The Shadow reached the passage to Dorth's study, there was a pounding at
the front door. Bolts screeched as Dombrey drew them.
     The Shadow was in a corner of the anteroom when footsteps sounded along the
passage. Dombrey appeared, accompanied by the man whom The Shadow expected:
Ursus Jadway.
     When Dombrey rapped on the study door, it promptly popped open. Professor
Dorth bowed and waved a hand in greeting as he admitted his visitor.
     Dombrey departed along the passage; but The Shadow did not stir. He
expected another arrival; the man appeared almost immediately. It was Van Bryck.
He knocked at the study door and Dorth admitted him. The Shadow had expected
Dorth to call Van Bryck into this important conference.
     Moving forward, The Shadow reached the study door; turned the knob and
pressed for an opening. Through a quarter-inch crack, he eyed Dorth and Jadway
at the desk. He heard the dry tones of the professor.


     "THIS is terrible, Jadway!" exclaimed Dorth. "To think that Farradon should
have been as stupid as Rune. I cannot understand this double ignorance."
     "It was bad enough for them, professor," declared Jadway. "But it is tough
for me, also. You say you haven't read the newspapers; well - they garbled
everything. It seems that Farradon was stopping at a penthouse owned by a man
named Thurleigh.
     "I went there and found Farradon dead! Thurleigh had heard Farradon call my
apartment. He wanted to know if my name was Jadway. When I told him yes, he
started to call the police. He actually accused me of murdering Farradon!
     "I might have stayed to explain matters; but Thurleigh pitched himself on
me. I lost my head; when I managed to bowl over Thurleigh, I left in a hurry.
Called my Jap valet; but it was too late. The police were already at the
apartment."
     Sinking back in his chair, Jadway mopped his forehead in hopeless fashion.
Plaintively, he added:
     "They haven't traced me yet, professor; but I'm in a terrible jam! You've
got to get me out of it, somehow. After all, maybe you can explain these deaths.
If there was only some way to make the whole mess clear -"
     "Be calm, Mr. Jadway," interposed Dorth, soothingly. "Van Bryck and I can
aid you. There is another man, however, who can do even more. He will be here
tonight."
     "Who is he?"
     "A man like Rune and Farradon," replied Dorth. "One who was to be a
prospective customer for your stock promotion campaign. He actually handled my
synthetic radium, like Rune and Farradon. But I know that he used proper
precautions."
     "Then he could testify -"
     "That the deaths of Rune and Farradon were accidental? Most surely! I think
he would be glad to do so. Do you agree, Van Bryck?"
     The technician nodded.
     "This man is a wealthy Canadian," declared Dorth. "His name is Price
Wadsford. He will arrived at Woodbury station at 10:18. He is coming in on the
Green Mountain Express."
     "Woodbury station?" queried Jadway, quickly. "That is on this branch line,
isn't it?"
     "Yes," nodded Dorth. "You can only reach the station by taking the back
road that leads over the hill. It is about twenty-five minutes' ride from here,
for the road is a poor one."
     Turning to Van Bryck, Dorth added:
     "Remind me, Van Bryck, to have Glidden called at quarter of ten, so that he
will have ample time to reach the station."
     "Shall I tell him now, professor?"
     "Yes." Dorth picked up pen and paper. He scrawled a brief note. "Give this
to Glidden. He will then have no excuse if he forgets the exact train time."


     THE SHADOW moved back to darkness, to let Van Bryck pass through the
anteroom. The technician was reading the note; The Shadow saw a smile upon his
solemn lips.
     That note was an order to Glidden, to contact Matt Schedler near the bottom
of the hill. Matt and his crew were to wait for Jadway, who had obviously come
without Silk Marron and his band. But the note - so The Shadow divined - told
more.
     Jadway's eagerness when he heard of Price Wadsford; Dorth's cunning mention
of the back road to Woodbury station these told The Shadow where the ambush
would be.
     Dorth was giving Jadway an opportunity to meet Wadsford before the Canadian
arrived at the house on the hill. Jadway had swallowed the bait. He had shown it
by his eagerness.
     The Shadow did not move back to the study door. Instead, he waited for Van
Bryck's return. The Shadow knew that nothing more of consequence would pass
between Dorth and Jadway. The professor would continue to soothe his visitor;
Jadway would play his part of apprehension.
     As before, the pair were matched in a battle of wits; and Dorth was still
outshining Jadway, despite the fact that the swindler had guessed that the
professor was a man capable of crime.
     The sound of a departing car told that Glidden had gone with Dorth's
message. Soon, Van Bryck reappeared and entered the study without knocking. A
while later, there was a muffled sound of Glidden's return. Soon, the door of
the study opened and Dorth came out, clapping Jadway upon the shoulder.
     "Tardon will show you out," declared the professor. Then: "Ah! I forgot!
Tardon has taken his first night off in many months. I have a man named Dombrey,
serving in his place. Where is Dombrey? Not here? Van Bryck, suppose you usher
Mr. Jadway to the door."
     As Jadway started, Dorth reminded:
     "Remember, Mr. Jadway, you can stay here as I suggested. We can chat until
Mr. Wadsford arrives."
     "I must make a long-distance call," returned Jadway, smoothly. "It will be
safe from the village. No one knows me there. I shall be back before eleven,
professor."
     Eyes glittering, Dorth watched Jadway depart with Van Bryck. When they had
gone from the passage, Dorth uttered a contemptuous laugh; he stepped back into
his study. The moment that the door closed, The Shadow took the passage to the
hall.


     WHEN he reached the front of the house, The Shadow discovered that Jadway
had not yet gone. The swindler was standing at the front door, chatting with Van
Bryck. The door itself was open; since Dombrey was not in sight, The Shadow
assumed that the servant had stepped out doors.
     Since both Jadway and Van Bryck were occupied, The Shadow had excellent
opportunity to glide, unseen, past the darkness of the big stairway. In this
fashion, he reached the living room; he moved to the front edge of its wide
doorway.
     The Shadow was close enough to catch the conversation between Jadway and
Van Bryck. Their words were simply a repetition of the chat in the study. Jadway
was expressing concern; Van Bryck was trying to allay his worries. To The
Shadow, it seemed to be a stall on the part of Van Bryck. The reason was
explained a few moments later.
     Dombrey appeared at the front door, followed by Glidden. Unnoticed by
Jadway, the chauffeur gave a quick-nod to Van Bryck. More expressive than words,
that nod meant that Glidden had contacted Matt Schedler. The trap was set for
Jadway.
     "Show Glidden to the study, Dombrey," ordered Van Bryck. "Professor Dorth
may wish to see him. You understand about meeting the 10:18 tonight, don't you,
Glidden?"
     "Yes, Mr. Van Bryck."
     With these words, Glidden followed Dombrey toward the passage to the study.
Van Bryck shook hands with Jadway; then ushered the swindler through the door.
When Jadway had descended the outside steps, Van Bryck stepped back into the
hall and closed the big door.
     For a moment, it seemed that Van Bryck intended to throw the bolts. Then he
changed his mind. The chauffeur would have to leave the house; hence there was
no use locking the door until after his departure.
     Van Bryck strolled into the living room, passing The Shadow en route. Going
to the deepest wall, the technician threw a lamplight on the large stretch of
bookshelves. He began to pick out certain reference volumes. Thus engaged, he
failed to observe the motion that occurred at the doorway of the living room.
     Emerging from his latest hiding place, The Shadow crossed the hall. He
reached the front door; opened it far enough to admit the passage of his tall,
wiry form. The door closed with The Shadow's departure. It shut so silently that
Van Bryck heard no sound whatever.
     Pressed against the blackness of the wall, The Shadow looked down the
steps. He saw Jadway's roadster beneath the roof of the porte-cochere. Jadway
had not yet started the motor; nor had he turned on the lights. In fact, there
was no sign that Jadway was even in his car.


     IN back of Jadway's roadster was a sedan. That car belonged to Professor
Dorth; it was the one in which Glidden had driven to contact Matt Schedler.
Returning from his trip down the hill, Glidden had been forced to halt when he
reached the porte-cochere, for Jadway's roadster blocked his route.
     The chauffeur could have reached the garage by going leftward around the
drive; but since he had intended to enter the house, he had pulled up in back of
Jadway's car.
     Glidden had left the cowl lights on, but their glow was feeble. Drizzly
rain formed a mist that shrouded the sedan. As The Shadow moved along beside
Jadway's car, he heard scraping sounds beyond the sedan. Reaching the second
car, he passed it and peered to the right.
     By the glow of the ruddy tail-light, The Shadow saw Ursus Jadway.
     The swindler was crouched by the back of Glidden's sedan He had taken the
cover from the gasoline tank, to insert a length of rubber tube that he had
brought from his own car.
     Jadway had drawn a mouthful of gasoline through the tube; he was wiping
this lips with a handkerchief, to rid them of the taste. The tube was acting as
a siphon, draining off gasoline from the sedan's tank.
     The Shadow saw Jadway's game. The swindler had planned to drive to the
Woodbury station, to intercept Price Wadsford, which was exactly what Professor
Dorth had expected. But Jadway had seen another opportunity.
     By draining the sedan's tank, he intended to cut its gasoline supply to a
mere dribble; enough to start Glidden from the house, but insufficient to last
as far as the Woodbury station. There was still nearly two hours before the
train would be due. Jadway was staging a smart trick before he started.
     Oddly, Jadway's action served The Shadow also. The Shadow had not hoped to
reach his car before Jadway drove from the mansion. At best, he had counted upon
hurrying down the hill to his coupe and following in time to overtake Jadway
after the unsuspecting swindler had been blocked by Matt Schedler.
     Jadway's siphon job, if it took five minutes longer, would enable The
Shadow to race for Woodbury station ahead of Jadway.


     REACHING soft turf, The Shadow found a rough path and hurried down the
slope. It was a short-cut, this path; The Shadow reached his hidden coupe in
four minutes flat.
     Starting the car, he swung to the muddy road that led to the station.
     Hitting thirty miles an hour, The Shadow reached the top speed that this
precarious road allowed. He knew that he was gaining more distance than Jadway,
for the swindler would be in no haste, particularly on a bad road.
     Somewhere ahead lay danger. Matt Schedler and a crew of thugs would be
ready for the first car that came this way, believing it to be Jadway's.
     Though prepared for action, they would not be over wary. They were waiting
for a man whom they believed to be a dupe. Instead, they would find an opponent
prepared to offset their measures. A surprise was in store for those lurkers
that served Professor Dorth.
     At the wheel of his coupe, as capably as when afoot, The Shadow could take
a speedy, elusive course that would throw attackers into confusion. Out guessing
a crew of thugs was something that he had done before; yet there was always a
chance that some unexpected hazard might arrive.
     How great that chance hazard; how close to death it was to come, The Shadow
did not know. Nor had he any inkling of the horrible climax that was to follow
his encounter with Matt Schedler and the thuggish guardians of this lonely road.


     CHAPTER XIV

     DEATH RIDES THE DARK

     A FEW miles along the muddy road, The Shadow came to a sharp turn. His
headlights showed a railroad embankment; he had reached the branch line on which
the Woodbury station was located. The road followed beside the railroad.
     The Shadow knew that this particular branch was double-tracked only to the
second station farther out than Woodbury; for there, commuter traffic ended.
After that, it became a single-tracked division to New England, with only a few
through passenger trains a day.
     As he slowed his coupe to avoid skids on the muddy road, The Shadow heard a
roar above him. A brilliant searchlight cleaved the misty drizzle; a fast
freight, outbound, overtook The Shadow's car. The freight was traveling at more
than thirty miles an hour, which had previously been the limit of The Shadow's
speed.
     The road improved as The Shadow passed a muddy stretch. He pressed the
accelerator, increased his speed to nearly forty miles. He was keeping pace with
the locomotive of the freight train; he pulled slightly ahead of the big engine
in the course of the next mile.
     This was to The Shadow's advantage. Every curve of the railroad track was
matched by the dirt highway. The locomotive's searchlight sent a glare far more
powerful than that of The Shadow's car. It flooded the road as well as the
tracks.
     Far ahead, The Shadow saw a narrow bridge beside the railroad embankment.
It was where the highway crossed a small creek. The searchlight showed two men
standing by the bridge; one was holding a red lantern, that seemed unlighted
against the brilliance of the locomotive's headlight.
     On the near side of the bridge, pulled beneath a tree, was a parked touring
car. The lamps of an automobile could not have shown that machine; but the
locomotive's searchlight did. In an instant, The Shadow was fully aware of the
trap that had been set for Jadway.
     The men at the bridge intended to stop Jadway with the red lantern. While
they held him in conversation, others would arrive from the parked touring car.
The Shadow saw a way to beat that game.
     He slackened speed; let the locomotive draw ahead of him. As the
searchlight went past the line of the bridge, The Shadow saw the red lantern
plainly.
     No longer facing the locomotive's glare, the two men spotted The Shadow's
approaching car. One was swinging the red lantern, to halt the coupe.


     THE SHADOW pulled up to the right of the road. As he stopped, he slid his
left hand beneath his cloak.
     The man with the lantern thrust his face into the opened window on The
Shadow's side of the coupe. He shouted loudly, so that his voice could be heard
above the rattle of freight cars that were passing along the embankment.
     "Can't go through this road, bud!" informed the thug. "The bridge ain't
safe! You'll have to turn around -"
     As he shouted, the hoodlum came up with his free hand, to plunk a revolver
muzzle on the ledge of the car window. The Shadow had already gripped the handle
of an automatic; as the thug made the move, The Shadow whipped his left hand
from beneath his cloak, with a terrific, short-snapped backswing.
     The back of The Shadow's gloved hand clipped the hoodlum's chin. Carrying
the full weight of a .45, The Shadow's fist had the power of a mule's kick. The
blow lifted the thug clear from his feet; sprawled him to the far side of the
road, while the lantern scaled away and clattered into the ditch, where it
smashed.
     His hand stopped short, The Shadow twisted, aimed his automatic through the
window on the right, which was also open. Just as he turned about, a flashlight
glared full in his face. It was flashed by the other thug who had been at the
bridge. This attacker had come up to the right side of the car.
     The Shadow fired squarely into the glare of the flash.
     The burst of the .45 was confined to the interior of the coupe. Outside,
its report was drowned by the heavy rattle of the clanking freight cars. So was
the yell that came from the man who had flashed the light. But Matt Schedler and
the thugs in the touring car knew exactly what had happened.
     As The Shadow jammed his coupe in gear and shot the trim car whining across
the bridge, rapid jabs of flame came from the darkness. The tat-tat of a
submachine gun was loud enough to be heard above the clatter of the freight
train. The quick fire was too late. The Shadow was away before it began.
     In the rear-view mirror of the coupe, The Shadow saw headlights flash from
the touring car. The car started forward; halted a moment while The Shadow
increased the distance. Matt Schedler was picking up the thug whom The Shadow
had knocked out, along with the hoodlum who had been wounded by The Shadow's
bullet.
     The short delay was to The Shadow's liking. It determined his policy.
     With a good head start, The Shadow could lead Matt's band a wild chase for
many miles. They would travel farther and farther from Dorth's; yet, all the
while, the course would be northward, toward the inbound express which carried
Price Wadsford.
     Somewhere along the line, The Shadow would have to give his pursuers the
slip; perhaps meet them in brief combat.
     For his plan was to meet the train on which Price Wadsford was riding, and
accompany the Canadian southward to Woodbury. Thus was The Shadow accomplishing
two deeds at once: drawing Matt Schedler on a false trail which he thought was
Jadway's; also, arranging to meet and warn Price Wadsford of impending danger.


     AS he sped the coupe forward, The Shadow caught up with the freight
locomotive. He saw the glaring searchlight shine upon a small railroad station.
The Shadow knew that this was Woodbury.
     There, the road curved away from the tracks; but came back to them again.
Once more, The Shadow was beside the thundering locomotive.
     Instead of passing the big engine, The Shadow stayed beside it. The
locomotive's searchlight enabled him to pick a better course along the muddy
road.
     The freight train slackened speed near a station that was perched on the
edge of the embankment. It had reached the end of the double tracks; the crew
had to await orders before running over the single-tracked section of this line.
That forced The Shadow ahead of the stopping locomotive.
     Rain had increased; the road was a mass of muck. Without the aiding
searchlight, The Shadow was running into trouble. Only through expert handling
did he keep his car from the ditch. With the treacherous road, he could average
no better than thirty miles an hour.
     Matt Schedler, however, was gaining with every mile. From the wheel of the
touring car, he used the lights of The Shadow's coupe as a beacon. Each time the
coupe floundered, Matt knew that it had hit a bad spot. Matt was ready for the
muddiest stretches.
     Within twenty minutes, the touring car had the coupe within range of
machine-gun fire. Matt was restraining his eager sharpshooters. A little closer,
they could riddle the coupe with certainty.
     From a view in the rear-vision mirror, The Shadow gauged the distance and
recognized Matt's plan.
     Grimly, The Shadow laughed; his fierce mirth betokened change of action.
There was only one way to deal with these pursuers who still believed that they
were after Ursus Jadway. That was to turn the chase into an ambush
     There was a turn in the road, a hundred feet ahead. The road was higher
here; it had come up to the level of the railroad tracks.
     Once he made the turn, The Shadow intended to drive his coupe off the road,
skidding it about as he extinguished the lights. A reckless feat; but if it
succeeded, The Shadow would be the first to open fire. With two automatics
blazing from darkness, The Shadow would have a chance to stop the touring car as
it rounded the turn.


     THE SHADOW pressed the accelerator. The coupe leaped for the turn ahead.
Simultaneously, the touring car roared from in back. Matt was giving it the gas,
thinking that the coupe was seeking a get-away.
     Watching the sharp curve ahead, The Shadow drew an automatic with his right
hand. He kept his left hand on the wheel; for the curve was to the left, in the
direction of the railroad tracks.
     As he took the curve at top speed, The Shadow suddenly left the shelter of
trees. He saw a clear stretch outlined in a blinding glare, that came with a
roaring sound from beyond the right side of the car. A puny warning sign was
outlined beside the road; beyond it, the glisten of wet steel rails, bathed in
that terrific light.
     The road had struck a grade crossing. From the north was speeding a huge
locomotive, bearing down upon The Shadow's car; the only warning was the mammoth
beam from the searchlight, which The Shadow did not see until the edge of the
crossing.
     It was a southbound freight, for which the other train waited. Gobbling the
last fifty feet of track, it seemed intent to crush the coupe.
     The Shadow's foot never left the accelerator. He held to his speed; the
coupe bounded across the track and wallowed through mud beyond. Safe by forty
feet, The Shadow pressed the brakes.
     The coupe did a partial spin. At the right window, The Shadow was ready
with automatics, to blast the touring car if it made the crossing. If Matt
halted to let the train go by, The Shadow would have time to prepare a better
ambush.
     As he gazed toward the grade crossing, The Shadow witnessed a climax that
made his plans unnecessary.
     From the bend whizzed the touring car; the faces of its murderous crew were
shown in glaring detail, for the freight locomotive had thundered to the
crossing. Matt Schedler had sped into far greater danger than The Shadow. His
only chance was to skid the touring car away from the locomotive's path.
     Matt's foot must have frozen on the brake pedal. His car did not lose its
speed. It leaped like a hound upon the edge of the tracks. From that bounce, it
seemed to climb the huge front of the locomotive. The thug-laden car telescoped
like a cardboard toy.
     Clawing figures were hurled high from the engine's pilot. Shrieks were lost
amid the road. The demolished touring car vanished in fragments. Its occupants
were gone when the locomotive's bulk blotted the crossing from The Shadow's
gaze.
     Freight cars rushed by, their speed decreasing. The Shadow had no need to
remain upon the scene. He knew that the train crew would find no survivors.
     A band of murderers had been wiped to nothingness. Professor Dorth's
outside crew was gone. The Shadow was relieved of a necessary task that had
formed a prelude to his principal objective. Need of chase or ambush were both
eliminated.
     The coupe had stalled with its skid. The Shadow started the motor; turned
the car in the road. He resumed his northward route, swinging a bend and coming
parallel to the tracks on this side of the railroad.
     Eight miles would bring him to a station where the Green Mountain Express
made a regular stop. The Shadow had half an hour to reach that point before
Price Wadsford's train arrived.


     CHAPTER XV

     THE SHADOW'S RETURN

     IT was quarter of ten; lights were dim upon the station platform in the
town of Brewling, twenty-two miles north of Woodbury. The station agent,
stepping from the waiting room, paused to speak to a prospective passenger who
was standing under the shelter of the platform roof.
     "The express is due in a couple of minutes," informed the station agent.
"She's a little late, on account of the weather; but maybe she'll make it up
getting into New York."
     In a quiet tone, the prospective passenger thanked the station agent for
the information. Thus encouraged, the agent offered further facts.
     "No. 6 got held up down the line, so I hear," he said. "Hit an automobile
at a grade crossing. She's pulled ahead, though, and the pike's clear. They had
to hold up No. 11 - she's another freight - so's the express can go through. No.
11 usually meets the express here -"
     The agent broke off as a searchlight shot its beam from a curve above the
station. He hurried along the platform, while the stranger watched the
slackening approach of the incoming locomotive. The train was the Green Mountain
Express.
     Baggage cars and day coaches formed the foremost portion of the train. Then
came a club-diner; after that, a parlor car. The waiting passenger boarded the
diner-lounge and took a seat in the lounge section. He tendered a ticket to New
York and paid a Pullman fare.
     There were no passengers in the diner section of the car, for the hour was
too late for meals. The only ones aboard the lounge section were three chatting
youths who were returning from a vacation.
     Soon after the train had pulled away from Brewling, the new passenger arose
and walked back into the parlor car.
     This passenger was tall and leisurely of manner. His features had a hawkish
aspect; they looked almost masklike. His eyes were keen; but they had a faculty
for covering a natural sharpness that would have excited attention from
observers.
     Over his arm, the passenger from Brewling was carrying what appeared to be
a light raincoat, black in color. The coat was moist with rain; that could have
been accounted for a faint, grayish tinge.
     The brim of a dark hat projected from beneath a fold of the supposed
raincoat; there were other objects, bulky ones, but their shape was hardly
noticeable.
     The Shadow had simply adopted a nameless role. He looked like neither
Lamont Cranston nor Henry Arnaud, another of his disguises, although he bore
considerable resemblance to the former. Cranston's features were the type that
The Shadow ordinarily preferred; a few adept touches would always suffice to
make his present countenance become that of the millionaire.
     The parlor car had few occupants. There were two men who could be Price
Wadsford. The Shadow noticed a suitcase beside one man's chair; the bag bore a
customs sticker. That identified the Canadian. The Shadow approached and sat
down in the next seat.


     PRICE WADSFORD was a middle-aged man, with square-jawed face and
gray-tinged hair. His long-fingered hands were restless as they gripped a
magazine; his eyes blinked nervously as they glanced up.
     Wadsford noted that he was under observation by The Shadow. The fact
annoyed him. He eyed the stranger suspiciously.
     With a slight smile, The Shadow spoke a quiet question:
     "You are Price Wadsford?"
     Wadsford hesitated; then nodded.
     "I thought so," remarked The Shadow, his tone scarcely more than a whisper.
"You answer the description given me by Professor Dorth. I have something
important to tell you, Mr. Wadsford."
     Wadsford's eyes were quizzical. The Shadow looked beyond him and pointed to
an open door.
     "The drawing-room is empty," he said. "Suppose we step inside, where no one
will disturb us."
     Wadsford nodded his agreement. Carrying his cloak, The Shadow entered the
drawing-room and closed the door. Wadsford had followed close behind him. He was
prompt with a question.
     "What has happened?" he asked. "Nothing about the invention - I mean,
nothing has happened to Professor Dorth?"
     "Nothing," replied The Shadow, "except that there will be danger if you
visit him. There is no time for lengthy discussion, Mr. Wadsford. I need your
full confidence!"
     "Concerning what?"
     "The visit to Dorth's. I intend to go in your place!"
     Wadsford came to his feet, glaring at The Shadow, who was seated in the
chair nearest the door.
     "Professor Dorth warned me of this!" exclaimed Wadsford. "He told me to
beware of strangers who might seek facts concerning his invention. If -"
     "Calm yourself, Mr. Wadsford," interposed The Shadow, his eyes fixed upon
the man. "I said before that time was limited. I intend to give instructions,
your part is to follow them!"
     Wadsford's teeth gritted. Angrily, the man reached for the doorknob. The
Shadow extended an intervening hand. He caught Wadsford's forearm in a rigid
grip.
     "Remain here," ordered The Shadow, "until we have made our arrangements
concerning -"
     Wadsford interrupted with a sudden action. Twisting, he lunged for The
Shadow, trying to thrust back the arm that held him at length. Wadsford's thrust
was powerful; he started a shout as he came. The Shadow stopped him short.
     The gripping hand tightened; it twisted. Wadsford writhed; The Shadow's
free hand clapped upon his lips. With a shove, The Shadow sent his attacker half
across the drawing-room, then used Wadsford's own weight to pull himself to his
feet.
     Clamping his forearm about the man's neck, The Shadow added a quick choke
that dropped the fellow limply into a chair.


     WADSFORD gasped helplessly; he was dazed by the jujitsu thrust. The Shadow
clamped the man's hands behind him; bound them with a leather thong, that he had
carried on this expedition in case of trouble with Dorth's dead servant, Tardon.
He used Wadsford's handkerchief to gag the man. Another strip of leather took
care of Wadsford's ankles.
     It was swift work; and with double reason. Wadsford was recovering by the
time The Shadow completed the task; moreover, The Shadow had much to do within
the coming minutes.
     The Shadow had dropped his cloak upon a chair, with the bulky objects
beneath it. Staring with wide-opened eyes, Wadsford saw him lift the cloak and
lay aside a brace of automatics. He watched The Shadow pick up a flat box, which
proved to be a make-up kit.
     Propping Wadsford back against a chair, The Shadow rested the make-up box
in his own lap. Eyeing a mirror, looking beyond it, he began a facial
transformation.
     Steadily, carefully, he bulged the contour of his forehead; squared his
jaw; added a putty-like substance to his cheeks. It required longer for The
Shadow to shape his nose like Wadsford's. Then, with a warning whisper, he
leaned across and pulled the gag from Wadsford's teeth.
     The prisoner made no outcry. He was as awed as he was helpless. The Shadow
studied Wadsford's lips; tightened the gag between the man's teeth; went on to
complete his make-up.
     As a final touch, he took a shell-gold tooth from his make-up kit and
fitted it over one of his own bicuspids, to match a gold tooth that glittered
from Wadsford's own mouth.
     Packing his make-up kit, The Shadow followed with a careful search of
Wadsford's pockets. He found various items that he wanted, including Wadsford's
Pullman ticket stub. Rising, The Shadow picked up his various belongings, turned
out the drawing-room lights and opened the door.
     He saw the porter sitting idly at the front of the car; the attendant was
the only person faced in The Shadow's direction. A moment later, the porter
dozed. The Shadow stepped from the drawing-room and closed the door behind him.
     Reaching Wadsford's Pullman seat, The Shadow found a briefcase beside the
suitcase. He opened it, drew out a sheaf of papers and packed his own belongings
- cloak, guns and make-up kit - instead. Wadsford's suitcase was not full. The
Shadow added the papers that he had taken from the briefcase.


     THE porter was coming along the aisle. The Shadow saw him look toward the
drawing-room; the porter chanced to notice that the door was closed. He stepped
toward the door, as if to open it. The Shadow called to him, in a querulous tone
that resembled Wadsford's:
     "Porter! Come here!"
     "Yes, sah!" The porter bowed, eyeing The Shadow and taking him for
Wadsford. "What is it, sah?"
     "I am getting off at Woodbury."
     "I know, sah. Pretty near ten minutes to Woodbury, yet. The conductor will
be in here -"
     "Never mind the conductor. Take my bags to the platform. Then go look for
the conductor."
     The porter hesitated, puzzled. The Shadow added:
     "I want to make sure that the train will be stopped at Woodbury. Sometimes
there is a slip-up with these flag stops."
     The porter bowed, picked up the two bags and carried them to the platform.
Soon he returned with the conductor, who smilingly announced that the train
would surely stop at Woodbury.
     The Shadow motioned to a rack overhead; the porter brought down Wadsford's
hat and overcoat, to help The Shadow don them.
     In the commotion, the porter had forgotten all about the drawing-room door.
Moreover, the train was much closer to Woodbury. Since The Shadow insisted that
he must be on the platform when the train stopped, the porter followed him out.
     The Shadow gave the man a dollar tip; they waited for the few minutes that
remained. The train slowed; the porter opened the door.
     The Shadow alighted the instant that the express stopped. He received his
bags from the porter, who scrambled back aboard. The train pulled out
immediately; and The Shadow calmly watched its departure.
     He doubted that the porter would bother about opening the door of the
drawing-room. Even if he did discover Wadsford before the train reached New
York, it would be unlikely that the prisoner would mention Professor Dorth until
he talked with the police.
     By the light of the station platform, The Shadow examined a letter that he
had taken from Wadsford's pocket. It proved to be word from a hotel, that a room
was reserved for Wadsford. The Shadow would be able to communicate with Wadsford
later.
     A voice questioned The Shadow:
     "Are you Price Wadsford?"
     It was Jadway. The Shadow faked a facial twitch that resembled Wadsford's
manner. He nodded.
     "My name is Ursus Jadway," informed the swindler. "Professor Dorth asked me
to meet you, as his chauffeur was delayed at a garage. Let me have your bags,
Mr. Wadsford. You can wait in my car, while I telephone the garage to tell the
chauffeur that I have met you."
     The Shadow watched through the station windows, while Jadway made the
telephone call. He easily divined Jadway's actual purpose. The swindler was
summoning Silk Marron and the crew from some near-by hide-out.


     COMING from the waiting room, Jadway climbed behind the wheel of the
roadster and started for Dorth's. He made no comments to his passenger, except
to express annoyance at the disagreeable weather.
     Jadway was canny. He had probably intended to talk to Wadsford during the
ride to Dorth's; but had changed that plan. Coming in with Wadsford would give
Jadway sufficient advantage when he dealt with Dorth.
     Driving slowly, Jadway stopped when he saw a car stalled on the road.
     "Hello, Glidden'" he exclaimed. "What's the trouble?"
     The Shadow saw Glidden gape. The chauffeur blinked at Jadway as though
viewing a ghost. Finally, he gulped:
     "I'm out of gas."
     "Get in the rumble seat," ordered Jadway. "I have Mr. Wadsford here with
me. We'll take you up to the house."
     Glidden obeyed, dumfounded. He had supposed that Matt Schedler and company
had long since handled Ursus Jadway.
     Reaching the house, Jadway told Glidden to carry the bags inside.
     Glidden was still too stupefied to make objection. The Shadow knew why
Jadway wanted the chauffeur inside. Silk Marron and his men would soon be coming
up the hill. Jadway wanted their approach to pass undetected. Glidden was the
only man who might see the invaders in time to give the alarm.
     While Glidden held the bags, Jadway pounded at the door. Dombrey opened it;
stepped back with goggle-eyes when he saw Jadway. The Shadow entered along with
Jadway; and Glidden followed, shaking his head behind their backs, so Dombrey
could see.
     Van Bryck appeared from the living room. The technician paused at sight of
Jadway; then smoothly covered his surprise.
     "So you are back, Mr. Jadway?" he inquired. "Ah, good evening, Mr.
Wadsford. Professor Dorth expects both of you in the study."
     Van Bryck led the way, leaving Glidden in the hall with Dombrey. The Shadow
spoke to the chauffeur and asked for his briefcase. Glidden handed it to him;
The Shadow followed Van Bryck and Jadway.
     This time, The Shadow's footsteps echoed with the others as they walked
along the passage to the study. The Shadow was no longer a shrouded watcher
within the confines of this mansion. He had come openly, playing the role of
Price Wadsford.
     Professor Lycurgus Dorth was due for a surprise, like the others who had
been astonished to see Ursus Jadway alive. From his knowledge of Dorth's
ingenious ways, The Shadow was confident that the professor would have a
counterthrust; one that would surprise Jadway when the pinch arrived.
     It would be The Shadow's turn to introduce the final element in the coming
sequence; a surprise of his own that would do for both of these participants in
crime. That might be difficult, while he passed himself as Price Wadsford.
     One point, however, remained in The Shadow's favor. It had not taken him
long to assume the appearance of Price Wadsford; it would require him but a
fraction of that time to again become The Shadow.


     CHAPTER XVI

     CROOKS CONCUR

     WHATEVER wonderment Professor Lycurgus Dorth may have felt at witnessing
the double arrival of Ursus Jadway and Price Wadsford, nothing expressed itself
upon the old inventor's features.
     Van Bryck, leading the way to the round-walled study, did not have
opportunity to speak to Dorth before the others entered. Hence the professor's
first inkling of what had happened came when he saw the faces of Jadway and
Wadsford, side by side.
     Rising behind his desk, Dorth chuckled an immediate greeting, holding out
his hand to The Shadow, whom he took for Price Wadsford.
     "Welcome!" exclaimed Dorth. "I am glad to see you again, Mr. Wadsford."
Turning to Jadway, he added: "Your arrival is most timely, Mr. Jadway, Since you
came in with Mr. Wadsford, I suppose that Van Bryck has already introduced you
to him."
     "I introduced myself," returned Jadway, his tone suave. "I happened to meet
Mr. Wadsford at the Woodbury station. I brought him here in my car."
     "Indeed!" Dorth smiled as he made exclamation. Then, in puzzled tone:
"Where was Glidden? I thought that he had gone to the station to meet Mr.
Wadsford."
     "It was something of a coincidence," explained Jadway, smoothly. "I was
headed this way, professor, returning as you suggested. I recalled that the
express was due; and I drove over to the station. Glidden was not there; so I
met Mr. Wadsford when he stepped from the train. On our way here, we met
Glidden. He had run short of gasoline."
     The Shadow saw a sharp glitter from Dorth's eyes. It faded quickly. The
professor had caught the inference; had guessed that Jadway was responsible for
Glidden's trouble on the road.
     Other thoughts were in Dorth's mind, and The Shadow divined them. Dorth
supposed that Jadway had met the coming guest in order to talk with him while
riding from the station. Logically, Dorth thought that Jadway would have induced
The Shadow - presumably Wadsford - to go elsewhere than the mansion.
     The fact that Jadway had actually brought Wadsford here made Dorth believe
that the two had exchanged important comments on the road; had leagued
themselves and come here together, to demand a showdown from Dorth.
     That was where Jadway, for once, had outsmarted the old professor. Jadway
had discreetly avoided questioning the arrival whom he thought was Wadsford.
Jadway knew, however, that Dorth would believe otherwise. Jadway had put Dorth
on the defensive; the old professor would be forced to hedge, in order to learn
how matters stood between Jadway and Wadsford.
     That delay was exactly what Jadway wanted; for it would allow time for Silk
Marron and his henchmen to reach the mansion.
     Jadway had also guessed that if he talked too much to Wadsford, he might
raise doubts in the visitor's mind. Jadway had been wise with that decision.
     The Shadow remembered how suspiciously he himself had been received by
Wadsford, aboard the Green Mountain Express. Unquestionably, Jadway was starting
well in this game of wits, although he was working entirely upon bluff.


     THE SHADOW was ready to help Jadway's bluff. He felt that the swindler
deserved a chance to aid in bringing Dorth to justice; for Jadway, himself, was
a victim of Dorth's intrigues.
     True, Jadway was a swindler who deserved punishment, and he had showed
murderous intent against Carton Thurleigh in the latter's penthouse; but that
score was one that could be settled later. The Shadow would attend to it when
the time was right.
     Both Jadway and The Shadow were facing Dorth across the latter's desk. Van
Bryck was standing just within the study door, which he had closed. Jadway,
nevertheless, seemed confident. He began the opening discussion in smooth
fashion.
     "I have not yet explained matters to Mr. Wadsford," stated Jadway, with a
quick glance toward The Shadow. Turning toward Dorth, he added: "I thought that
you would prefer to introduce the subject, professor."
     Jadway's glance, his suave tone convinced Dorth that the swindler had lied.
Dorth was sure that Jadway had gained facts from Wadsford during the ride from
the station. The professor rested his elbow on the desk; set his smooth chin in
his clawish hand.
     "Of course," declared Dorth. "It would be best for me to explain. You see,
Mr. Wadsford, Mr. Jadway came here with a promotion plan. He wanted to interest
others, besides yourself, in my synthetic radium."
     The Shadow blinked in Wadsford's fashion. Spluttering, he began:
     "But that was not our plan, professor! I - I understood that you -"
     "I know," nodded Dorth. "You understood that you were to have sole rights
to my invention. My negotiations with Mr. Jadway did not disturb that
arrangement. They were intended for your advantage, Mr. Wadsford. You see, Mr.
Jadway learned of certain men who had money to invest. That is correct, is it
not, Mr. Jadway?"
     "Of course," agreed Jadway. "They were men who already knew about the
invention -"
     "Not precisely," interposed Dorth, quickly. For the first time, his face
expressed anxiety. "Rune and Farradon were men who had studied the possibilities
of radioactive substances. That was all."
     A hard smile fitted itself to Jadway's lips. The swindler had his
opportunity, and took it before Dorth could intervene.
     "Any friend of yours would be interested in radioactivity," asserted
Jadway, facing Dorth. "That is why I knew that Rune and Farradon would be good
prospects."


     DORTH looked anxiously toward The Shadow, hoping that Jadway's inference
would slip by. Jadway, too, was sharp with a glance at the personage whom he
thought was Wadsford. The Shadow displayed a troubled look.
     "I do not understand this!" he exclaimed. "Do I understand you correctly,
Mr. Jadway, when you state that your prospects were friends of Professor Dorth?"
     "Ask the professor," returned Jadway. "He can tell you."
     The Shadow turned to Dorth. Slowly, the inventor nodded.
     "Rune and Farradon were friends of mine," he admitted. Thinking quickly,
Dorth was sure that this fact had already been discussed by Jadway and Wadsford.
"They were men of discretion. I felt that you might like to deal with them, Mr.
Wadsford."
     "You never mentioned them to me!" expostulated The Shadow. "You told me
that I was the only person who knew of your synthetic radium."
     "So you were," bluffed Dorth. "I can explain all this later, Mr. Wadsford.
For the present, let us -"
     "Wait a minute!" The grated words came from Jadway. The swindler was on his
feet, glaring straight toward Dorth. "You told me differently, professor. We're
going to get to the bottom of this!"
     Jadway faced The Shadow.
     "Let's hear your story, Wadsford," added Jadway. "We'll listen to it
without interruptions. Just what kind of a deal did Dorth make with you on this
invention of his?"
     The Shadow had the answer. He knew that Dorth must have sold Wadsford false
rights to the invention, just as he had with Rune and Farradon. Calmly, The
Shadow replied:
     "Professor Dorth sold me exclusive rights to his synthetic radium. The
invention belongs to me. I have proof of that fact, among the papers in my
briefcase. Let me show you, Mr. Jadway."
     Reaching for the briefcase, The Shadow opened the top; slipped his hand
within, as if to draw out a stack of papers. Pausing a moment, he added:
     "Perhaps you would be interested in knowing the amount that I paid for
those exclusive rights."
     "I would," retorted Jadway. "Spill it, Wadsford!"
     Before The Shadow needed to fake a reply, Professor Dorth spoke from across
the desk. His chin still in his palm, the old man clucked:
     "Wadsford paid three hundred thousand dollars."
     "So that was it," jeered Jadway. "I guessed pretty close to your game,
Dorth! Rune and Farradon coughed up dough, too, didn't they? That's why you had
to croak them, wasn't it?"


     THE SHADOW had gripped an automatic. He saw something which Jadway had not
noted. While Dorth was eyeing the swindler, Van Bryck was creeping forward from
the door. The technician's hands were extended, ready to grip the back of
Jadway's neck.
     Dorth, too, was on the move. While his left hand remained motionless,
supporting his chin, his right was creeping slowly for a desk drawer. The Shadow
knew that Dorth was going for a gun.
     Two seconds more, and The Shadow would have whipped forth a .45, to take
command of the scene. It was Jadway who changed the situation. The bull-faced
swindler detected the creep of Dorth's right claw.
     With a sudden bellow, Jadway sprang to the center of the room, swinging
away from Van Bryck's path. With a quick jerk, Jadway whipped a revolver from
his pocket. His position gave him instant opportunity to cover both Dorth and
Van Bryck.
     "Up with them!" snapped Jadway. Then, as Dorth and Van Bryck obeyed, he
added: "Just stay as you are, Mr. Wadsford. I'll look out for you."
     The Shadow remained motionless. With disdainful snort, Jadway concentrated
upon Dorth, who sat pitifully with his hands upraised.
     "So you grabbed off sucker money," jeered Jadway. "Made a goat of me, while
you pulled a con game of your own! How much did you tap the others for?"
     "Rune paid two hundred thousand," admitted Dorth. "Farradon delivered two
hundred and fifty thousand."
     "Which makes seven hundred and fifty grand," totaled Jadway, adding
Wadsford's three hundred thousand. "One more sucker and you'd have been a
millionaire! Say - maybe you did have more coming. How about it?"
     Dorth smiled dryly.
     "Perhaps," he replied. "The game is still good, Jadway. It may interest you
to know that Rune and Farradon came here before they died, just like Wadsford
came tonight."
     "You planted something on them?"
     "An actinium compound," returned Dorth, calmly. "It finished them and
faded, to leave no evidence. Van Bryck switched Rune's fountain pen, to give him
one that contained the powder. He handed Farradon a fixed package of
cigarettes."
     "That's right," put in Van Bryck, stolidly. "Tonight, I have a special
watch, prepared for Wadsford."
     Jadway darted a look toward The Shadow. He saw that he was wearing a heavy
gold watch chain running from one top vest pocket to the other. The stem of a
large watch was projecting from the pocket on the left. The Shadow had taken
these items from Wadsford.
     "Let's see you make the switch," suggested Jadway. "No monkey business, Van
Bryck. Remember, I'm quick with a trigger when I have to be!"


     VAN BRYCK looked toward Dorth, who nodded. Solemnly, the technician
approached The Shadow, who arose in nervous fashion, still clutching his
briefcase. He shifted toward the door. Jadway stopped him with smooth tone:
     "Stay as you are, Mr. Wadsford. We both want to see this."
     Van Bryck stepped behind The Shadow, who was facing Jadway. The technician
remarked:
     "I intended to help Wadsford on with his coat. Like this -"
     Sliding his left hand to the front of The Shadow's vest, Van Bryck smoothly
plucked the watch from the pocket; detached it from the swivel-catch at the end
of the chain. He did the whole move with finger and thumb of his left hand and
let the watch chain dangle.
     Jadway saw Van Bryck swing his hand to his own pocket, drop Wadsford's
watch and bring out another that looked identical. With a smoothing motion
against The Shadow's coat lapel, Van Bryck attached the duplicate watch and let
it drop in The Shadow's vest pocket.
     A smile of admiration spread upon Jadway's thick lips. In alarmed fashion,
The Shadow pulled out the watch that Van Bryck had planted upon him; tore it
from the chain and flung it to the floor. Jadway's grin increased. Dorth saw it
and remarked:
     "Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Too bad, Jadway, that you
spoiled the game."
     The professor shook his head sadly.
     "We should have arranged it differently," he said. "I was afraid of you,
Jadway, for I guessed that you were a swindler. I hesitated about proposing a
plan that I had in mind."
     "What was that?"
     "To have you provide me with prospects," returned Dorth. "More wealthy men
like Rune, Farradon and Wadsford. You could roam at large; gain their
confidence; send them to me. With such contacts, I could gain the million that
you mentioned. You could acquire the same amount for yourself."
     An avaricious gleam showed in Jadway's eyes. Slowly, the swindler nodded.
In speculative fashion, he spoke:
     "It would still work. I could use an alias out West. The police would never
bag me."
     "The deal is still open," said Dorth. "On a fifty-fifty basis, Jadway."
     "What about this guy Wadsford?" demanded Jadway, nudging his free thumb
toward The Shadow. "You can't plant anything on him, Dorth. He's wise."
     "Would you care to have me dispose of him?" clucked Dorth. "As the first
move in our partnership?"
     "Go to it," ordered Jadway. "If you've got a method, it suits me. Of
course, I can plug him right now."
     "That will be unnecessary."


     WITH this dry rejoinder, Dorth turned about in his swivel chair. He raised
the wooden strip between the windows; pressed the switch beneath. The door
locked with a click; the room began to revolve.
     New admiration showed on Jadway's face; the swindler's smile was both evil
and conniving. Jadway leveled his revolver toward The Shadow.
     "Hold that pose, Wadsford," snorted Jadway. "One funny move and I'll plug
you! We're going to see what the professor has for you."
     "It will please you, Jadway," chuckled Dorth, standing behind his desk. "In
a moment, you will realize the full opportunities that our partnership offers."
     Jadway laughed harshly. He had proven himself as deep-dyed as Dorth. Crooks
had concurred; they had decided upon the death of Price Wadsford. Before them
stood the cringing victim, his face twitching in a manner that seemed to denote
real terror.
     Neither Dorth nor Jadway realized that those facial contortions could be
feigned. They never could have guessed that their intended victim was The
Shadow.


     CHAPTER XVII

     TURN ABOUT

     THE circular study finished its half revolution. The Shadow was huddled,
almost against the open space that had once marked the door; but which had
become the entrance to Dorth's horror cell. His left hand still clutched the
handle of the briefcase. His right was again inside the bag.
     Jadway thought that it was still frozen to the papers that The Shadow had
intended to bring out.
     The briefcase was turned end toward Jadway. All the while, The Shadow was
gripping an automatic, his finger on the trigger. At any instant, he could have
ended this farce; sudden blasts through the leather would have dropped Jadway
before the plotter could fire.
     Such action would have left Dorth and Van Bryck dumbfounded, easy prey for
The Shadow. Nevertheless, The Shadow desisted from the move. He was willing to
continue his part as Price Wadsford for a while longer. The Shadow had given
Jadway a chance to play square. The crook had not taken it. Therefore, Jadway
deserved the same fate as Dorth and Van Bryck.
     Yet The Shadow was giving him the absolute limit, to see if he wavered at
the sight of an innocent man going to doom. It was only one chance in a thousand
that Jadway would do so; yet until the swindler had actually participated in a
move of murder, The Shadow intended to let him live.
     Standing in front of the death cell, The Shadow was framed in a glare of
flickering light. Professor Dorth's thorium lamp was burning downward from the
ceiling. Jadway grinned as he saw the glow. He knew that it must indicate a
death device.
     "No man can live five minutes in that cell," remarked Dorth, as he stood
behind his desk. "I always set the light before certain guests arrive. It has
had time to gain full intensity."
     "What'll it do to Wadsford?" queried Jadway. "Burn him to a crisp?"
     "It will wither him," chortled Dorth, "as it has done with previous
victims!" Jadway leered viciously, jabbing his revolver toward The Shadow.
     "Back up!" snapped Jadway.
     Mechanically, his lips wavering piteously, The Shadow moved back into the
horror cell, still clutching his briefcase and the gun within it. Jadway snapped
an order to Dorth:
     "Close him in!"
     It was the verdict for death. It marked Jadway as a murderer. Dorth pressed
the switch; the wall turned and the opening was closed.
     As the window holes went by, Jadway saw the terrified face of Wadsford; the
victim appeared too scared to move. Jadway laughed gloatingly at the view.


     THE room finished its turn. Jadway lowered his revolver and swung toward
the desk. He questioned:
     "No chance of that light shutting off?"
     Dorth pointed to a lamp near the door of the room. It was on a tiny table;
it was the only lamp that was not lighted.
     "When the thorium light is extinguished," remarked Dorth, "that light will
become illuminated. It is attached to the circuit."
     "If it burns five minutes longer, Wadsford will be dead?"
     "He will die in about four minutes," stated Dorth, "but the thorium glare
has about twelve minutes to run. Wadsford has been in the cell for exactly one
minute."
     Van Bryck nodded agreement. The white-coated technician knew all the
details of Dorth's devices.
     "We can talk terms, in the meantime," decided Jadway. "By the way, we won't
be disturbed here, will we?"
     "The door is again unlocked," replied Dorth, "but Dombrey will not come
here unless I send for him."
     "Good," stated Jadway. "It will be all right for Van Bryck to listen in on
this?"
     "Of course," chuckled Dorth. "He shares my full confidence."
     Jadway swaggered across the room, juggling his revolver by the trigger
guard. He finally stopped to face the desk.
     "You put me in a jam, professor," he declared, "but I can crawl out of it.
Figuring that I'll make a million bucks on the deal, it's worth it. I can wind
up in South America, when I get my load of kale. There's one point, though, that
we've got to settle."
     Dorth seated himself; nodded to Van Bryck to take a chair. Jadway came to
the point in question.
     "The split ought to start from scratch," affirmed Jadway. "You've already
made a haul of seven hundred and fifty grand. That dough is part of the deal."
     "Part of the two million," agreed Dorth. "We can settle that later."
     "I'll give you a good proposition," suggested Jadway. "I'll bring in one
sucker, to run the total over a million. We'll split fifty-fifty and keep on
from there."
     Dorth considered the plan; nodded his approval.
     "One thing, though," added Jadway. "What about that swag you've taken in,
up to date. Do you still have all of it?"
     "I have the entire amount," returned Dorth. "I financed this whole plan on
my own capital. I have not been forced to draw a single dollar from the
profits."
     "Good! Can you show me the cash?"
     Jadway put away his revolver as he asked the question. He strolled toward
the door; waited there, as if expecting Dorth to rise and lead him somewhere in
the house. Instead Dorth simply motioned to the front of the desk and ordered:
     "Open it, Van Bryck."


     THE technician stooped and pressed the center panel at the front of the
desk. The panel eased inward; slid beneath another, Jadway saw that the panel
was of steel; its release showed a shallow strong box, that was wide and high,
to make up for its lack of depth.
     Stacked in tight packs were bundles of currency that almost completely
filled the secret strong box. Jadway saw that the bills were of high
denominations. A quick estimate told him that the full amount was present.
Jadway nodded in pleased fashion. Dorth pointed toward the lamp on the little
table.
     "The glow still operates," remarked the professor. "Four minutes are gone.
Wadsford is dead!"
     With this announcement, Dorth looked toward the door. His eyes showed
sudden alarm as they spotted Jadway's hand creeping toward the swindler's coat
pocket. With a harsh shout, Dorth shot a claw for the desk drawer that contained
his own gun.
     Van Bryck heard Dorth's cry. The technician pounced toward Jadway, too
late. As he whipped out his gun, Jadway used his other hand to yank the door
inward. A long-nosed man-bounded through, flashing a .38; behind him were four
others.
     Silk Marron had arrived with his crew.
     Van Bryck stopped short; Dorth sank back helplessly. The flash of
brandished guns told them that fight was useless. With his band inside the room,
Jadway closed the door. He pointed to the open front of the desk.
     "That's ours," Jadway told Silk. "I get my half of the dough; you fellows
split the rest. I told you that there would be gravy here."
     "We'll all take it on the lam," rejoined Silk, looking toward his thugs. "I
told you mugs that this guy Jadway was tops."
     Nudging back toward the passage, Silk added:
     "We bagged the chauffeur and the flunky when we was coming in. Tapped 'em
on the konks, without making no noise about it. They was a cinch, like you
figured, Jadway."
     Jadway nodded. His glare was fixed on Dorth. Jeeringly, the murderous
swindler predicted the professor's future.
     "You tried to pass a rap to me," sneered Jadway. "When it didn't work, you
figured a way to make more dough, going halves with me. That's one time you
turned out to be a sucker. Showed me your swag; well, it's enough. It's easier
to grab what's here than to go after more, especially with a double-crosser like
you -"
     A click from the door made Jadway turn. As he looked, the room began to
revolve. Wheeling toward the professor, Jadway shouted:
     "What are you pulling here? Starting this trick room around again?"
     "I didn't touch the switch," began Dorth. "It's in back of me - on the wall
-"
     "Press it right now! Stop this turntable!"
     "I can't, until it's finished its turn. Listen to me, Jadway" - Dorth was
rising, his expression anxious "there's only one person who could have managed
to make this room revolve. And that's -"
     "That's you, you double-crosser!"


     BAWLING the accusation, Jadway jabbed his revolver toward Dorth. A white
shape leaped from beside the wall, to grab for Jadway's gun. It was Van Bryck;
the technician knocked Jadway's arm aside as the swindler fired. Dorth did a
dive behind the desk.
     Revolvers coughed. A fusillade from Silk and his thugs riddled Van Bryck as
Jadway warded off the attacker. Van Bryck fell; the thugs jabbed shots at the
desk, hoping to shoot through the woodwork and clip Dorth, who lay beyond. The
bullets were stopped by the steel panels that formed the front of the desk.
Those surfaces were merely painted to look like mahogany.
     "Get around the desk!" shouted Jadway, in the center of the revolving room.
"Plug Dorth! Give it to the cursed old faker -"
     Jadway's command ended abruptly. The room had completed its half turn; the
glow from the death cell was shining through the opening that had reached the
far wall. Like Jadway, Silk and the four thugs were turned away from that spot;
but all heard the chilling sound that issued from the secret room.
     They wheeled about, those rogues, to face a new opponent - one whom they
had not expected here, yet whose mirthless laugh had warned them of his
strength. They had heard the laugh of The Shadow; upon the threshold of the
torture room they saw the dread being, himself.
     Cloaked in black, with slouch hat on his head, The Shadow was standing with
ready automatics. Those gun muzzles, projecting from gloved fists, betokened
doom to men who deserved to die.
     The Shadow had dropped the part of Price Wadsford; imprisoned in the cell
of doom, he had donned his chosen garb.
     It was The Shadow who had made the room revolve, by jabbing a hooked strip
of steel beneath the end wall of the cell. Through that tiny crevice, The Shadow
had engaged the hidden switch that Dorth had installed in case he chose to use
the cell as a place for his own concealment.
     Regardless of whether Dorth and Jadway strengthened or dissolved their
partnership, The Shadow had waited until they would believe him dead. He knew
that his return would then bring consternation to his foemen.
     The Shadow had turned the tables upon men of crime; but by revolving the
room so he could again enter it, he had come face to face with a full squad of
desperate killers.


     CHAPTER XVIII

     DOUBLE BATTLE

     THE SHADOW'S challenging laugh was the best of opening moves. It brought a
unified response from the killers whom he was set to battle; but that was to The
Shadow's advantage. He wanted his enemies to act alike, not singly. There was
always greater hazard when some lone foe showed unexpected initiative.
     Silk was the quickest of those who spun about; beside him was a thug who
showed almost equal speed. Both fired as they wheeled; their shots were too
hasty. The bullets thudded the walls beside the opening; neither marksman had
time for a new jerk of a revolver trigger.
     The Shadow's automatics blasted amid the echoes of his laugh. They were
thunderous, those reports, for their sounds were amplified by the confines of
the death cell. The effect of those long-tongued stabs was immediate. Silk and
his fellow killer sprawled side by side, close to Van Bryck's body.
     The Shadow shifted forward; then back; he was past the edge of the cell,
away from view when new thugs fired. He poked the muzzle of a .45 out from the
cell, picked off another killer with a single blast.
     It was too much for Jadway. The swindler bellowed a command to the two
thugs who remained.
     Both launched forward, intent upon trapping The Shadow. As they sprang,
their black-clad foe leaped suddenly in view, stabbing quick shots at the
comers. The foremost thug fell headlong; the other, lurching across his
sprawling pal, fell upon The Shadow and began a frenzied grapple.
     This was the one form of attack that The Shadow had sought to forestall.
Once thugs discarded guns to clinch, they could make trouble; for such wild
tactics ruined The Shadow's aim. His only course was to beat down his foeman,
keeping the thug's body between himself and Jadway.
     The swindler was in front of Dorth's big desk, standing above the body of
Van Bryck, which made a gory sight, its white coat splotched with crimson.
     Jadway did not realize the spot that he was in. Half a minute more, The
Shadow would be free to deal with him, to catch him flat-footed, from within the
cell. At that instant, however, another man acted to prolong Jadway's life.
     The man who made the move was Dorth; he performed the deed for his own
benefit, not for Jadway's. Coming up from behind the desk, Dorth snapped the
wall switch, which was once more capable of making the room revolve. Dorth
thought to trap The Shadow in the cell.


     AS the room started to revolve, The Shadow saw it. From the threshold of
the cell, he made a huge forward lunge; sent the grappling thug rolling to the
floor. Arms wide, The Shadow had no chance to aim for Jadway; instead, he
hurtled forward and dived for Jadway as the big man fired.
     A bullet singed The Shadow's shoulder; the flesh wound did not stop him. He
drove a bashing blow with one automatic. As Jadway ducked, The Shadow fell upon
him. The two rolled to the floor; Jadway came on top. He gave a triumphant
shout.
     Dorth, crouched over the top of the desk, realized all that Jadway failed
to guess. He saw why The Shadow had let Jadway come above him. It was because of
the thug whom The Shadow had propelled across the room.
     That killer was rising, looking for a revolver. He would be back again in
the fray; The Shadow was using Jadway as a shield against him.
     Dorth pressed a button at the side of the desk. It was a summons to his
hidden servants, in their upstairs quarters. They had failed to learn of Silk
Marron's entry, for Silk and his thugs had quietly handled Glidden and Dombrey.
However, Dorth's servants would now know that an emergency existed.
     From his desk drawer, Dorth drew his revolver. Gloating, he watched the
fray upon the floor, while the circular room completed its revolution.
     As The Shadow rolled, Dorth saw a peculiar glisten to the garb that he was
wearing. The black garments - cloak, gloves and hat - all carried a slight
grayish tinge. It told why The Shadow had dared the glow of the horror cell.
Dorth remembered Van Bryck's report of the evaporated lead solution. He had
regarded it as inconsequential at the time. He knew, at last, that it had been
important.
     Dorth realized that The Shadow had visited the laboratory; soaked his black
garments in the protective liquid. Garbed in his own cloak and hat, The Shadow
had become immune to the penetrating effect of the deadly thorium rays.


     THE room had stopped its half circuit. Dorth leaped to the door and grabbed
the knob, ready to admit his servants when they arrived. He was counting upon
Jadway holding out against The Shadow, so that both would be victims when the
reserves arrived.
     Dorth had by this time realized that some ill fate must have overwhelmed
Matt Schedler and the outside crew.
     Just as Dorth opened the door, a muffled shot came from the floor. Dorth
saw the last thug topple. The fellow had found a revolver; had been waiting for
a chance to clip The Shadow. Spotting the crouching thug, The Shadow had managed
to twist his right-hand automatic and thrust it beneath Jadway's arm, to down
the menacing thug.
     The door was open; there were shouts and footfalls at the far end of the
passage. Another muffled shot came from the floor. It sounded just as Jadway,
half rising, tried to sledge The Shadow with a stroke of his revolver.
     Jadway's blow never fell. Instead, the murderous swindler did a sideslip
and rolled dead upon the floor. The Shadow had pressed his automatic to Jadway's
heart, and had yanked the trigger simultaneously.
     Dorth's servants were surging through the anteroom. Flat on the floor, The
Shadow used his one good arm to pump two final bullets from his automatic. One
man sprawled dead; a second staggered, clutching his right shoulder, while his
revolver fell to the floor.
     There were two more servants; Dorth snarled for them to come ahead. They
paused too long.
     Snatching up his other automatic, which lay less than two feet away, The
Shadow was ready for the last pair of servants when they aimed. He sprayed three
bullets straight for the door. Dorth's last henchmen slumped.
     Dorth, himself, was springing back to the desk. He wanted its protection.
Across the top, he aimed for The Shadow; fired one wild shot and ducked. The
Shadow had dropped his second automatic, to pick up Jadway's revolver.
     From the anteroom, Dorth's wounded servant managed to grasp the doorknob
with his left hand. Sagging outward, he pulled the door shut after him; he
wanted no more battle. Weakened by his shoulder wound, the man had barely enough
strength to make his one protective move.
     Dorth heard the door slam. With a canny chuckle, the old professor pressed
the wall switch. The room began to revolve. Peering from the side of the desk,
Dorth saw The Shadow, half risen on the floor. Dorth ducked as the revolver
muzzle turned toward him. He was prepared to play a waiting game.
     The Shadow, wounded, would seek refuge. His only place would be the horror
cell. That would afford him as good a barrier as the desk which served Dorth. If
The Shadow entered the cell again, there would be a chance to trick him - so
Dorth reasoned.


     EVEN while the room revolved, The Shadow acted in a manner that made Dorth
chuckle. He seemed to be taking the bait; with backward crawl, he was moving
toward the opening that would soon be the entrance to the cell of doom.
     When the room stopped, The Shadow was but a few feet from the opening. He
made a final effort; then slumped and flattened on the floor.
     Dorth saw the black cloak outspread. The grayish tinge was clearly visible
against the vivid flicker that still came from the ceiling of the death cell.
The thorium light had gained its highest intensity; the cell walls were
crackling with the heat.
     The Shadow lay silent, his arms obscured beneath his cloak. Dorth thought
that he lacked effort to move farther. With fiendish chuckle, Dorth pounced out
from the desk; bounded forward, aiming as he came. He intended to riddle The
Shadow with every bullet in his gun, delivering the six shots from close range.
     As Dorth pressed the trigger for the first, a report sounded from the folds
of The Shadow's cloak. A flash from a revolver muzzle ripped straight for
Dorth's body. Dorth had taken the bait; not The Shadow. Feigning complete
collapse, The Shadow had drawn the murderer from his place of safety beyond the
steel-fronted desk.
     Dorth bounded upward as the bullet clipped him. His own gun barked; its
bullet ricocheted from the unbreakable glass in the roof of the death cell.
Dorth's arm had jogged with his body; he had fired upward.
     Staggering wildly, Dorth lost his gun; he clamped both hands to his body
and reeled forward, blindly. He stumbled upon The Shadow; lost his footing and
pitched headlong, straight through the opening into the crackling cell.
     As he writhed upon the floor, Dorth realized where he was. Screaming, he
tried to gain his feet; he failed.
     The Shadow was rising; he steadied and turned toward the cell. He saw Dorth
claw the sides of the cell; then sag. The murderer was withering under the
devastating rays of his own death device.
     The cell had reached its fury point, wherein a single minute would suffice
for death to overwhelm an unfortunate occupant. Though Dorth deserved death, The
Shadow had no desire to see him suffer so horrible a fate, even though it was
the sort of retribution that belonged to the old professor.
     The Shadow stepped toward the cell; then wavered. His wound had brought a
loss of blood; he was too weak for heavy effort.
     Clutching the wall of the room, The Shadow tried to steady. He heard Dorth
utter a last gasped scream; saw the murderer stretch upon the floor of the cell.
Hardly had Dorth's fate been settled before a click sounded; the glaring ceiling
light faded; the floor sagged downward.
     Dorth's body slid through the trap; passing from The Shadow's view, it
dropped to its final resting place. A crash told that the old professor had
landed among the bones of his own victims.


     AS the floor came up, The Shadow steadied. He crossed the room, pressed the
switch behind the desk. The turntable revolved, the opening closed to blot out
the fading glow of the cell that had swallowed its own creator.
     Ripping away his cloak and garments beneath it, The Shadow uncovered his
wounded shoulder. He wadded a handkerchief in place, to stanch the flow of
blood. His dizziness lessened as the room ceased to revolve. Carrying Jadway's
gun, The Shadow opened the door to the anteroom.
     The wounded servant had crawled to a corner; he was lying there
unconscious. The Shadow continued through the passage; crossed the huge front
hall and found the front door unbolted. He descended through the porte-cochere;
felt the welcome spray of cold rain.
     The fresh air revived The Shadow. With steadier stride, he continued to the
garage and managed to open the sliding door.
     Entering Harry Vincent's coupe, The Shadow backed the car from the garage.
He headed down the hill; near the bottom, he swung into a muddy side road and
turned off the lights.
     The Shadow had heard the approach of other motors. He watched while three
cars passed, picking the road up the hill.
     Wheeling out into the road, The Shadow drove ahead. He was bound for better
highways, that would lead him to New York. He knew what those arriving cars had
signified. Price Wadsford, discovered aboard the express, had decided to inform
the law that there might be trouble at Professor Dorth's.
     Murder was ended at the mansion on the hill. Killers had met the doom that
they deserved. Professor Dorth's fake invention would be uncovered with his
death devices. Ill-gained swag would be reclaimed.
     A strange laugh sounded from the speeding coupe. The moist air throbbed its
eerie echoes of that mirth. The strident, mirthless tone faded; only the patter
of the beating raindrops remained, to tattoo their quiver on the roof of the
departing car.
     The Shadow's triumphant laugh had ended. It was a knell for men of crime; a
token that told of justice delivered. The schemes of Professor Lycurgus Dorth
were ended; so were those of Ursus Jadway, who had shown himself a murderer of
equal caliber.
     Those crooks who had matched their wits against each other had found an end
to their thirst for ill-gotten wealth. Dorth and Jadway alike, had been
outmatched by The Shadow.


     THE END