INTIMIDATION, INC.
                                 by Maxwell Grant

       As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December 15, 1936.

     Intimidation, Inc. had a new racket; one that made their ill-gotten
millions a sure bet - until The Shadow outsmarted them at their own game!


     CHAPTER I

     THE MAN WHO TOLD

      THE face at the taxi window was chalkish. Eyes squinted nervously as they
met the glare of street lamps. Lips were pitiful in their twitch. A hand
trembled, as it tried to tighten a muffler higher above a chattering chin.
      The man in the cab was marked for death; he knew that the threat of doom
was upon him.
      The cab swung a corner; it stopped at the side door of a six-story office
building. The driver tilted his head sidewise and spoke to his passenger:
      "Here we are, sir. At the Dorchester Trust Building. Guess you were right
when you said it stayed open until eight o'clock -"
      The speaker stopped abruptly. The passenger had alighted; he was standing
beside the cab, shakily thrusting a five-dollar bill in the driver's
direction.
For the first time, the taxi man was gaining a complete look at his fare's
face.
      The pallor of that countenance was plain. To the driver's astonished
eyes,
his passenger looked like a living corpse. Dumbly, the taxi driver took the
money, sat gawking as he heard a quavering voice tell him to keep the change.
He watched the passenger turn and make faltering strides through the side door
of the office building.
      Slowly, the taxi driver reached beside him and drew a newspaper into
view.
It was a copy of the Dorchester Evening Clarion, the evening journal that
served
this city of two hundred thousand population. Tilting the newspaper into the
light, the taxi man saw the printed picture of the passenger who had just left
the cab.
      Nodding to himself, the taxi man drove to the next corner; there he
stopped and beckoned to another cabby, who was standing gloomily beside a
vacant taxi. The fellow came over; the first driver pointed to the picture.
      "Lookit," he said. "Ludwig Meldon. The guy that went screwy and unloaded
all his stock in Dorchester Power & Light. Knocked the price down and sold out
all he had left, today. They say he lost a quarter million!"
      "I know it. I can read. But what's Meldon got to do with you?"
      "I just dropped him back at the Dorchester Trust Building. The guy looked
bad. Like he was ready to croak himself."
      "He must be cuckoo, stopping off at the Trust Company. It ain't open
evenings."
      "He wasn't going into the bank. He wanted the office building. Had to get
there by eight o'clock. Wonder what he wants in there?"


     THE taxi driver's query was at that moment being answered. Ludwig Meldon
had reached the third floor of the office building. He was standing outside an
office, where a frosted door bore the legend:
                               E. G. LENNING
                               Notary Public

      The office was lighted; its glow showed through the frosted pane.
Nevertheless, Meldon knocked. His rap, moreover, was cautious.
      The knocks brought no response. Nervously, Meldon opened the door and
stepped into the office. Except for its furniture, the room was empty. Meldon
looked puzzled; he had expected to find the notary.
      The security of the lighted office curbed Meldon's nervousness. Chewing
his lips, the pallid man looked about. He noted two inner doors; one, he knew,
opened into a closet. The other door was behind Lenning's desk; it led into an
adjoining office that belonged to another tenant. Meldon stepped past the
desk,
tried the door and found it locked. He looked relieved.
      In fact, Meldon had steadied sufficiently to study his surroundings. He
observed a typewriter in which two sheets of paper had been inserted, with a
carbon between. Though the upper page was blank, Meldon took this as a sign
that Lenning would return shortly. He seated himself at the desk and pulled
open a drawer on the right.
      The first thing that Meldon saw was a stenographer's pad that bore a
shorthand scrawl. Though not familiar with shorthand, Meldon recognized these
particular notes by the book that contained them. They were statements that he
himself had dictated to Lenning.
      Lifting the notes from the drawer, Meldon placed them on the desk. As he
did; his eye caught a glitter from the drawer. Lying there was a .32 revolver.
      For a moment, Meldon stretched his shaky hand toward the weapon; then
withdrew and closed the drawer instead. Guns horrified Meldon; nevertheless,
his lips showed a smile, because he had learned that Lenning had a revolver
handy.
      Minutes passed. In his strained state, Meldon kept worrying because
Lenning did not return. His hand was on the pad that contained the notes of
his
own dictation. Those statements were precious to Ludwig Meldon. They were
facts
that he had told to Lenning; facts that the world would know after the notary
typed them and Meldon made his affidavit. There was something else, though, to
go with them.
      Meldon drew a folded letter from his pocket, spread it out upon the desk.
Stubs of paper dropped from the folds: a railroad ticket and three
baggage-room
checks, that indicated luggage left at the station. Hastily, Meldon pocketed
the
ticket and the checks. He glanced at his watch; saw that it was three minutes
after eight. His face showed worriment; he feared that the building might
close
before Lenning returned.
      Hurriedly, the nervous man picked up the telephone. He started to dial
Lenning's home number, thinking that the notary might be there. Meldon's
fingers fumbled their task. Clicking the receiver hook, he started to dial
again. This time, another factor stopped him. Half standing at the desk,
Meldon
became rigid.


      ON a line beyond the telephone, Meldon could see the bottom of the closet
door. There, just on the fringe of the light provided by the desk lamp, he
spied a darkish, glistening blob of liquid.
      At first glance, Meldon supposed it to be ink; it was a more startling
thought that made him hang up the receiver and step shakily from behind the
desk.
      Reaching the closet door, Meldon stood riveted. His later thought was the
correct one.
      The spot on the floor was blood!
      Slowly, mechanically, Meldon gripped the knob and drew the closet door
toward him. He stepped back with a sharp cry, as a figure came toppling
forward
to sprawl, heavy and inert, face upward on the floor.
      The opening of the door had delivered a dead man, a squatty figure with a
flame-scorched, blood-dyed shirt front. The victim had been slain by a
revolver
bullet through the heart - a close range shot that had killed him instantly.
      Above the shirt collar, Meldon saw a moonish face with bulging eyes,
topped by a baldish pate. The dead man was Lenning. The notary's absence was
explained.
      Meldon's blurted gasp was followed by moments of tense nervous strain.
Sight of the corpse brought his senses to a high-tuned pitch. His ears caught
a
sound that they would not ordinarily have heard. Turning about, Meldon saw a
movement of the door behind the desk.
      Someone had unlocked the door from the next office. That person was
Lenning's murderer. One death delivered, the fiend was creeping in to gain
another victim.
      Frantically, Meldon sprang to the desk, yanked open the drawer and
grabbed
the revolver that lay there. In his excitement, he gave no heed to the
commotion
that he raised. He wanted to get the gun before the door was open, not
realizing
that his own activity would speed the man who was creeping in from the other
side.
      Meldon realized his mistake as he swung about wildly with the revolver.
The door banged the wall; an attacker surged upon him. Before Meldon could
either aim or press the trigger, his hand was doubled back toward his body.
      Caught in the grip of an insidious foeman, Meldon was thrust backward
across the desk. His writhing form blocked the lamplight and half obscured the
features of the evil murderer whose face was eye to eye with Meldon's.
      Despite that fact, Meldon managed a gasp of recognition. His frantic lips
were ready to mouth a name. The utterance never came. The muzzle of the
revolver was jabbed hard against his chest. A clamping thumb pressed Meldon's
forefinger. The revolver spoke, muffled by the struggling men.
      Ludwig Meldon sagged from his opponent's grasp. Catching the sagging
shoulders, the murderer pivoted Meldon about and let his body sprawl in the
chair by the desk. Meldon's head and shoulders flopped forward; his hand,
still
gripping the gun, lay across the opened letter and the shorthand notebook.


     HALF stooped behind Meldon's dead body, the murderer remained obscured.
His hand crept forward, gripped the letter and the notebook, to draw them from
beneath Meldon's forearm. For the moment, it seemed that the murderer intended
to carry those documents with him; then, as though impelled by some other
thought, he turned away.
     Only his shoulder and the back of his head showed by the lamplight as the
killer stepped through the doorway into the adjoining office. The door clicked
shut; the turn of a key followed. After that came silence.
     Passing moments showed the grim scene unchanged. Two dead victims lay in
the room of death. Lenning, the hapless notary, had gone first, purely because
he had been in possession of Meldon's dictated statements.
     With Lenning dead, the murderer had waited to deliver further doom.
Fiendish and efficient in his deed, a master killer had settled his score with
Ludwig Meldon, by murdering the man who had told the facts of crime.


     CHAPTER II

     COVERED EVIDENCE

      FIVE minutes after the murderer's departure, a change occurred upon the
scene of death. The change did not take place within the room itself; it came
from the door to the hall, and so slightly did it alter the scene that even
the
murderer would not have noticed it had he remained to watch.
      Grayishness crept across the frosted pane of the outer door. Becoming
motionless, that shadowy form made a silhouette against the outside lights of
the hallway. It marked the presence of a new arrival, who had come with superb
stealth to the spot where crime had struck.
      Keen ears were listening from the corridor - ears that must have learned
something from the stillness of the office. Slowly, the door began to open
inward. Blackness blocked the light from the hall. The door closed; this time,
a blackened shape was apparent against the frosted pane. Moving toward the
desk, the shape became a living form.
      The singular visitor was cloaked in black. His hands were encased in
thin,
black gloves. Above the upturned collar of his cloak was the brim of a slouch
hat, that completely shaded the features beneath them. Only the piercing glow
of firelike eyes was visible.
      The Shadow, master sleuth who battled men of crime, had arrived in
Dorchester. He was here to pit his skill against that of the slayer who had so
recently dealt double death.
      There was definite reason for The Shadow's presence in this city. Recent
events in Dorchester had forewarned him that crime might soon be due.
Financial
conditions in that prosperous city had undergone some curious changes.
      One by one, big business men had entered into unaccountable transactions,
that had brought them great losses. None had explained their actions, although
the Dorchester newspapers had sought interviews with them. The latest event -
more astonishing than any before - had been Meldon's seemingly insane
sacrifice
of a controlling interest in Dorchester Light & Power. That event had brought
The Shadow to Dorchester.
      Gaining some clue that linked Meldon with Lenning, The Shadow had reached
the notary's office, but only after death had struck.


     A BRIEF view of the scene told The Shadow that a murderer had cunningly
contrived to cover the crimes. Noting the muzzle of the revolver held by
Meldon, The Shadow saw two chambers that contained used cartridges. Beside
Meldon was the opened desk drawer; in it, a box of cartridges of the gun's
caliber.
     Circumstances indicated that Meldon had come here and engaged in a
quarrel
with Lenning. The scene gave the impression that Meldon had slain Lenning,
vainly tried to stow the notary's body in the closet, then, losing his nerve,
had committed suicide. There were details, though, that immediately told The
Shadow how the scene had been faked.
     Chief of these was the position of Meldon's body.
     The dead man's chair was too close to the desk. If he had voluntarily
shot
himself, Meldon would have jolted back with the impact of the bullet. Toppling
forward later, he would not have reached the desk. It was obvious, therefore,
that Meldon had been placed upon the chair and shifted forward to assume his
present position.
      While The Shadow pictured the exact way in which the murder had been
done,
he noticed the letter and the notebook beside Meldon's arm. Spreading the
letter, The Shadow observed that it was a brief one, neatly typed on paper
that
bore no letterhead. It was addressed to Ludwig Meldon, and was couched in
definite terms.
      The letter read as follows:

     DEAR SIR: On or before the 12th of this month, you will openly dispose of
your holdings in the Dorchester Light & Power Company, by selling them in
blocks of fifty shares until the price has dropped below $30 a share.
     You will then sell the remainder of your holdings as rapidly as possible.
No delay will be tolerated; nor will you be permitted to retain a single share
of that utility.
     Others have followed instructions of this sort; and in so doing, have
shown their wisdom. The penalty for disregarding this warning, or mentioning
this correspondence to any one, will be your immediate death.
     Destroy this letter. Remember that you are watched. Any false move will
be
immediately reported.
          Yours very truly,
               INTIMIDATION, INCORPORATED.

     The letter showed that others in Dorchester had been threatened. Various
business men had acted against their own interests, under the urge of
"Intimidation, Incorporated." Like others, Meldon had followed instructions.
He
had sacrificed five thousand shares of stock, with par value of one hundred
dollars, at prices ranging down to thirty and below.
     Dorchester Power & Light was a strong company. With pressure ended, the
stock would rise. Meldon had lost fully a quarter million; someone else would
gain that sum. If Meldon preserved silence it would be impossible to trace the
gainer. That was why Meldon had not followed the final instructions.
     To offset the supercrook who represented Intimidation, Incorporated,
Meldon had retained the letter that he had been told to destroy. He had
dictated notes to Lenning; he had planned to make affidavits, and leave the
letter with the notary also. Meldon had expected to be far from Dorchester
when
the news was printed.


     THE SHADOW was familiar with shorthand. He scanned Lenning's notebook and
found reference to previous cases. He read how Julian Reth, a big chemical
manufacturer, had sold out a subsidiary concern, the Apex Dye Works. The
purchaser, James Blosser, had gained three hundred thousand dollars' worth of
dyes for fifty thousand.
     Soon afterward, Martin Lambroke, owner of the Lambroke Silk Mills, had
bought the dyestuffs at their full price. Blosser had made a quarter million.
A
week later, he announced that he had bought a huge art collection for the
Dorchester museum.
     To Ludwig Meldon, once he had received his letter from Intimidation,
Incorporated, the story behind those deals was plain. Reth, Lambroke and
Blosser had all been threatened. They had followed orders. The real pay-off
would go to the unknown seller of the art collection. The treasures gained by
the museum would be exaggerated ones, worth but a fraction of the price paid
by
Blosser.
     The Shadow had already heard of that deal. He had analyzed the possible
inflation behind it. Meldon's letter was tangible proof. The notebook
statements coincided with The Shadow's deductions. Meldon had died because his
plan to leave Dorchester had been guessed. There was one odd factor, however:
why the murderer had left the letter and the notebook They stood as evidence
against the supercrook; they also proved that Meldon had neither murdered
Lenning nor committed suicide.
     A sound came from a radio in the corner of the office. MXDO, a local
station in Dorchester, was coming on the air at eight-thirty, after a two-hour
silent stretch. The announcer was introducing Hugh Bursard, owner of the
station. A deep, well-modulated voice began to speak about the State
exposition, soon to be held in Dorchester. Bursard was stating that the
exposition committee would meet on the next day, to decide the matter of
building contracts.
     The Shadow went to the radio and pressed the switch to cut off the
program. He went to the outer door; listened there. He started toward the door
in back of the desk. He heard a slight sound from beyond it. Quickly, The
Shadow glided across the office and stationed himself behind the open door of
the closet.


     THE door from the next office opened; a sweatered man sneaked into view,
pocketing a key as he came. The Shadow saw a thuggish face. He watched the
intruder stare at the bodies of Meldon and Lenning. The man's ugly lips showed
a pleased grin, as if sight of death pleased him.
     His gloat finished, the rowdy stroked his stubbly chin. It was plain that
the sight of the bodies was a treat that he had not anticipated. After
deliberation, the thug picked up the telephone and turned the dial with his
stubby forefinger. The Shadow heard his low growl:
     "That you, Brad?... Yeah, this is Skeet... Sure, I'm up in the office.
Listen, Brad. There's a couple of stiffs here. Looks like one guy croaked the
other and then rubbed himself out... Sure, I'll go through with it, Brad.
     "Yeah, I just wanted you to know about it... Sack Balban didn't say
nothing when he slipped you the orders, did he?... All right. I'll give the
joint the torch."
     The Shadow recognized the name of "Sack" Balban. He had expected to hear
it after reaching Dorchester, but not so soon as this. Sack Balban was a
racketeer who had gained a notorious reputation in the city of Dorchester, but
who had managed recently to keep himself within the law. It was known that
Sack
had numerous underlings; obviously, "Skeet" and Brad were members of the
tribe.
     Skeet lost no time after getting Brad's O.K. The Shadow watched him rip
open desk drawers and bring out sheaves of paper. Skeet strewed these along
the
floor; he added paper-laden folders that he took from the filing cabinet.
Picking up a wastebasket, he dumped its contents beside the desk. With a sweep
of his hand, Skeet shoved Meldon's letter and Lenning's notebook into the
debris.
     Stepping almost to the edge of the closet door, Skeet drew a cylinder
from
his pocket. The object was the size of a small drinking glass. Skeet removed a
metal cap, to show a glass interior. Liquid showed within. The cylinder was a
highly inflammable acid bomb, that would ignite when broken.
     Standing at a discreet distance, Skeet prepared to hurl the device
against
the base of the desk. His leer showed that he would welcome the display of
fireworks. His path was clear to the doorway of the next office and Skeet
turned in that direction, ready to travel fast. His hand came back to hurl the
bomb.
     A hiss halted the firebrand. Startled, Skeet tried to identify the sound
and guess the direction from which it came. For a moment, he studied his hand
in alarm, fearful that the noise came from the fire bomb. The hiss ended in a
whispered laugh, low and sinister. This time, Skeet looked in the right
direction.
     The thuggish torch stood rigid as he saw The Shadow. The cloaked avenger
had stepped from behind the closet door. His right fist held an automatic; his
left hand, extended, was reaching for the bomb that Skeet held.
     Shrinking, Skeet let his hand come down; he was only too willing to give
up his bomb. Skeet knew that he was faced by The Shadow.
     Two seconds more, and Skeet would have stood helpless, ready to answer
any
questions that The Shadow might put. In those seconds, something else
occurred.
There was a sharp clatter from the hallway door. It swung inward; with it, a
long-limbed man crossed the threshold. Revolver in hand, the newcomer aimed
for
The Shadow.


      IT was Brad, the crook who had received Skeet's call at a pay booth near
the office building. Brad had decided to come and look the place over. He had
arrived in time to oppose The Shadow.
      With any ordinary foeman, Brad would have held the bulge. Not with The
Shadow. As Brad's gun blazed, The Shadow was already on the move, feinting
toward the closet door, then suddenly changing direction to place himself
beyond Skeet. Bullets spattered wide, accompanied by Brad's fumed oaths. The
curses ended as The Shadow jabbed a sudden shot, following Brad's wild third
one.
      The stabbing bullet found Brad's gun arm. The crook's gun lowered; his
lips ejaculated a cry of pain. Staggering back through the doorway, Brad
became
a hopeless target. He would have surrendered on the instant, if Skeet had not
intervened. It happened that the ugly faced "torch" had joined the game.
      Diving past the desk, Skeet hit the floor on his knees, using his left
hand to break the fall. Heaving with his right, he hurled the fire bomb
straight for The Shadow.
      The Shadow saw the missile coming. Too late to dodge it, he made a
sidewise leap into the closet, whipping the door shut as he went. Lenning's
body prevented the door from coming to a full close, but its swing was far
enough.
      The fire bomb hit the barrier at an angle, glanced from the door and
struck the wall. It exploded with a silent puff that produced a huge sheet of
whipping flame. Like blobs from a cauldron, the fire scattered everywhere
about
the room.
      Brad was safe. He had reached the outer hall. So was Skeet, as he
scrambled through the doorway to the next office. The Shadow held a spot of
temporary security. Though fire lashed the door, it did not penetrate to the
closet.


     THE pyrotechnic force of the fire bomb ended within a dozen seconds.
Inspired by the chemical flames, masses of paper ignited; they were blazing
high, licking toward the bodies of Meldon and Lenning when The Shadow emerged,
and stepped across the nearer corpse. Furniture was catching fire; The
Shadow's
path was almost blocked; but by skirting the wall beside the windows, he
reached
the doorway through which Skeet had fled.
      Already, The Shadow heard shouts within the building. The gunplay had
alarmed tenants, who would soon arrive to deal with the fire. The Shadow took
Skeet's route. Passing through a darkened office, he reached an opened window
and saw a low roof beyond it.
      Skeet had made a get-away. Brad had fled by the stairs. The crooks had
gained sufficient time to elude The Shadow tonight. With no intention of
pursuit, The Shadow swung through the darkened window and merged with the
blackness of the lower roof.
      Tonight, The Shadow had learned of Intimidation, Incorporated, the title
under which some supercrook masqueraded. He had seen the proof of murder; had
discovered one of the killer's methods of covering evidence. Encountering
Skeet
and Brad, The Shadow had gained a link to Sack Balban, local racketeer whom
the
cover-up men served.
      Though death had arrived before him, The Shadow was embarked upon a
campaign that would not end until he dealt in person with the master murderer
who styled himself as Intimidation, Incorporated.


     CHAPTER III

     DOOM'S NEW THREAT

     THE next morning, the Dorchester newspapers carried the story of double
death, with photographs of Meldon and Lenning. They also reported the
short-lived fire, which had been extinguished before it could destroy
Lenning's
office or burn the bodies that were lying there. All that went up in smoke
were
the papers that Skeet had strewn on the floor.
     Among those, however, were the letter and the notebook. With such
evidence
burned, it was not surprising that the newspapers accepted the police theory
that Meldon had murdered Lenning and then committed suicide. It was conceded
that Meldon must have been crazed, when he disposed of his holdings in
Dorchester Power & Light. It was believed that he had held some imaginary
grievance against Lenning and had slain the notary on that account. Under such
circumstances, Meldon's supposed suicide seemed logical.
     By afternoon, the news was stale. The Evening Clarion did not run the
pictures of the dead men. Instead, it showed the portraits of four men who
were
to convene in important conference regarding the State exposition.
     The first portrait was that of Mayor Jonathan Wrightley, a pompous
gentleman with side whiskers. The second was Hugh Bursard, owner of Station
MXDO; a long-faced man with sharp eyes and the high forehead of a thinker.
Bursard was highly recognized because of his nightly talks on civic progress;
which went on the air from half past eight until nine o'clock.
     The third picture showed Elwood Clewiss, local lawyer who had recently
been elected district attorney. Clewiss was legal representative for the State
exposition. His picture showed him as a rugged type of man, with heavy brows,
straight mouth and hard, challenging jaw.
     The last portrait was that of an elderly man whose thin face and narrow
forehead were topped by a brush of whitish hair. He was Newell Radbourne,
financier whose efforts had been sought to make the exposition possible.
Though
his interests took him throughout the State, Radbourne frequently made his
headquarters in Dorchester, where he was an important figure in banking
circles.
      There was oddity, however, in the fact that the pictures of Clewiss and
Radbourne were side by side. It happened that Clewiss was counsel for an
obscure inventor named Ray Kroot, who was suing the Interstate Textile Co. for
infringement of a patented rug-weaving machine.
      Kroot was claiming damages in excess of two hundred thousand dollars; if
he won the case, Radbourne would be the loser. For, among the industries which
he controlled, Newell Radbourne held sole ownership of the textile company.
Fortunately, both Clewiss and Radbourne were tactful men; otherwise, they
might
have clashed, as members of the State exposition committee. Since the affairs
of
the exposition had nothing whatever to do with the patent case that Kroot had
instituted, the lawyer and the financier agreed separately to continue their
individual services to the exposition.


      FOUR o'clock found three members of the committee gathered in a
conference
room at the Dorchester city hall. Mayor Wrightley was seated at the head of a
table; on either side were Hugh Bursard and Elwood Clewiss. While the mayor
was
sorting papers that pertained to contracts, Bursard and Clewiss chatted. One
subject discussed by them was the death of Ludwig Meldon.
      "No one can prove that Meldon was insane," insisted Bursard. "He may have
had some purpose in disposing of his utility holdings. Perhaps he counted upon
Lenning to aid him in a future scheme."
      "A possible theory," smiled Clewiss. "In that case, Meldon murdered
Lenning because the latter refused to go through with the arrangements."
      The owner of MXDO shook his head.
      "I am not sure that Meldon murdered Lenning," he declared. "From the
newspaper accounts, all evidence against Meldon was of a purely circumstantial
nature."
      "The coroner's verdict was suicide, in Meldon's case," argued Clewiss,
emphatically. "I am willing to accept it."
      The conversation ended as two persons entered the room. Those at the
table
looked up to see Newell Radbourne, accompanied by a tall, calm-faced stranger.
Smiling a greeting, Radbourne introduced his companion.
      "Gentlemen," said the shocky-haired financier, "this is Mr. Lamont
Cranston, from New York. He arrived in my office an hour ago. Mr. Cranston is
an extensive traveler; he has contacts in every country of the globe. He
believes that he could arrange for an Oriental exhibit at the State
exposition."
      Seating himself at the table, Radbourne produced typed sheets of paper
and
passed them to the committee members. Nods came from all as they read. None
observed the smile that showed on the lips of Lamont Cranston.
      Though he had presumably arrived in Dorchester today, the calm-faced
personage had actually been in town for nearly twenty-four hours. Last night,
he had appeared in garb of black. Today, he had chosen another guise.
      The supposed Lamont Cranston was The Shadow.
      Recognizing that new threats would follow the one delivered to Ludwig
Meldon, The Shadow had mapped a strong campaign to reach Intimidation,
Incorporated. It was his belief that the crook who used that title would
strike
again, wherever he saw chance for profit.
      One field that might offer opportunity was that of the State exposition,
upon which millions of dollars would soon be spent. Therefore, The Shadow had
deemed it good policy to investigate the affairs of the exposition. By
proposing an Oriental exhibit, The Shadow had chosen an excellent method.
    MAYOR WRIGHTLEY was the first to comment on the proposition that he read.
    "This seems fair enough," he announced, pompously. "Mr. Cranston agrees
to
produce a minimum of twelve exhibitors, each to pay the regular rent for
space.
Since any additional exhibitors will also be charged in full, we have nothing
to lose."
     "Mr. Cranston has a chance to gain, though," inserted Bursard, in the
deep
tone that he used over MXDO. "If he chooses, he can charge the exhibitors more
than the usual rental."
     "What if he does?" inquired Clewiss. The attorney's tone was sharp. "That
is his business; not ours. I favor the proposition."
     Radbourne followed with a prompt statement.
     "I discussed that factor with Mr. Cranston," declared the financier. "He
said that some profit might be possible, but that it can scarcely pay him for
the difficulties that he will encounter. It is not an easy matter to line up
Oriental exhibitors in short order. Am I right, Mr. Cranston?"
     "Quite right," assured The Shadow, in an even tone. "Moreover, the
unfavorable rate of exchange will limit the exhibitors in the amounts that
they
can pay. I must allow for heavy shipping charges and customs duties. Frankly,
it
is my interest in Oriental products that has inspired me to make this offer,
rather than any hope for profit."
     The listeners were convinced, Bursard included. Mayor Wrightley made a
motion that the offer be accepted. It was carried unanimously; the agreements
were signed. As The Shadow arose, the mayor invited him to remain.
     "The remainder of our business will be brief," assured Wrightley. "We
have
merely to accept the proper contract for the construction of the city stadium
at
the exposition grounds. You might as well remain with us, Mr. Cranston."
     Arranging papers on the table, Wrightley scanned them and delivered a
broad smile.
     "We have received a great variety of bids," he remarked. "The lowest is
one million two hundred thousand dollars; the highest, two million. Quite a
difference."
     "Too much of a difference," snorted Clewiss. "You can eliminate the two
million dollar bid immediately. By the way; who set such an outrageous
estimate?"
     "The bid came from Ralph C. Markallan," replied Wrightley. "His contracts
have always been well handled. His concern is most reliable. But he has
evidently ignored the fact that close competition and small profits are always
to be anticipated in city contracts."
     Clewiss nodded and stepped over to study the various bids, remarking that
he had seen them previously, but had not had time to study them. The others
accepted the apology. It was plain that they were all familiar with the bids.
     "These lower-priced concerns are doubtful," began Clewiss. Then, with a
pleased tone, he added: "Wait! Here is one quite as good as Markallan's. I
refer to Lubaker-Smythe. Their estimate is one of the lowest, and the concern
is noted for its reliability."
     "We have already considered that fact, Mr. Clewiss," remarked the mayor.
"That is, I have discussed it with Mr. Bursard and Mr. Radbourne. Three of us
are already agreed to let the contract to Lubaker-Smythe."
     "Count me as a fourth."
      UPON receiving the attorney's agreement, Mayor Wrightley pulled open the
desk drawer and began to rummage among printed contract forms. He drew a few
papers from the drawer, started to sort them to find the one he wanted.
Suddenly, his hand halted.
      The others were chatting among themselves. No one noticed Wrightley's
pause, except The Shadow. His keen eyes observed more than the rigidity of the
mayor's hand. The Shadow saw the expression that froze upon Wrightley's
features. The mayor's pompous air was gone. His lips were opened like a fish's
mouth; his eyes had the bulge of a bullfrog's.
      Among the blank forms, Wrightley had found a typed letter. In reading its
lines, he had become horror-stricken; too overwhelmed to speak. It was not
until the mayor's hands sank to the table that the other men saw that
something
was amiss. One look at Wrightley's distorted face made them think that the
mayor
had experienced a stroke.
      Hugh Bursard sprang to steady Wrightley. From quivering lips, the mayor
managed to gasp something about a letter. Elwood Clewiss gripped the sheet of
paper, took it from Wrightley's loosened hands. Seeing that Wrightley had
settled to his chair with Bursard's aid, Clewiss stared at the letter. His jaw
thrust forward as he scanned the typed lines.
      "What is it, Clewiss?" questioned Newell Radbourne. The financier's tone
was anxious. "Something that concerns the committee?"
      "Yes," returned the lawyer, savagely. "It is a letter addressed to us. I
shall read it."
      Clewiss' tone became a contemptuous sneer as he proceeded to read as
follows:

     "Dear Sirs. You will proceed at once to accept the bid of Ralph C.
Markallan for construction of the exposition stadium. No delay will be
tolerated; you will make the announcement, by telephone, to the Evening
Clarion
within fifteen minutes after your receipt of this letter.
     "Others have followed instructions of this sort, and in so doing have
shown their wisdom. The penalty for disregarding this warning, or mentioning
this correspondence outside your conference, will be death.
     "You are prisoners - for the door of your conference room has been
latched
from outside. Every word that you say will be heard - for the microphone on
the
corner table is connected. Under the corner table is a bomb, ready to be
discharged by an electric current.
     "Destroy this letter. Make no false move. Fulfill instructions, or death
will be the verdict. Signed: "Intimidation, Incorporated."

     Clewiss flung the letter to the table and looked about the group. The
lawyer's challenging expression faded as he saw the faces of the others. Mayor
Wrightley looked pitiful; Hugh Bursard was solemn; Newell Radbourne quaked as
he gripped the edge of the table.
     Only The Shadow showed no change of expression. His face was immobile;
but
Clewiss was not interested in the reactions of the visitor who styled himself
Lamont Cranston. Clewiss was concerned with the other committee members; in an
effort to restore their morale, the lawyer stepped away from the desk and took
long strides to the door.
     Clewiss gripped the knob to turn it. His effort failed. His rugged face
purpled as his hand increased its tension, to no avail. Suddenly, Clewiss
relaxed; he turned about to face the others. Beads of sweat showed on the
lawyer's forehead; the paleness of his features told that he, too, was willing
to admit the menace.
     One statement in the letter stood as a fact, and thereby gave emphasis to
the others. Every person in the conference room was a prisoner, held by the
unknown master plotter who called himself Intimidation, Incorporated.


     CHAPTER IV

     CRIME THROUGH BLUFF

      WATCHING the trapped men, The Shadow saw all eyes turn toward the corner
of the room. There, upon a small table, stood the microphone that the letter
had mentioned. The instrument gave testimony to the fact that everything said
in the conference room could be heard by Intimidation, Incorporated.
      Staring at the microphone, Clewiss mopped his forehead with a
handkerchief, then questioned:
      "How did that come here?"
      "We used this room for a broadcast," explained Wrightley, in a weak tone.
The mayor had managed to recuperate. "That was three days ago; but the
microphone must have been left here."
      "It wasn't left here," inserted Bursard, who stared steadily from beside
Wrightley. "The mike was removed and brought to the station. This must be
another one. I wondered about it when I saw it today."
      "Gentlemen!" The excited speaker was Newell Radbourne. "Why quibble about
the microphone? Look beneath the table; see the rug there. It hides a death
device! We have received orders; we must follow them."
      Bursard eyed the rug. His gaze became rigid. There was a tightening of
his
lips that showed determination. Stooping mechanically, he reached down to
grasp
the fringe of the rug, as if to learn what lay beneath. Mayor Wrightley
gasped;
Newell Radbourne uttered a high-pitched protest.
      "Don't touch the rug, Bursard -"
      Bursard barely hesitated at Radbourne's cry. It was Clewiss who offered
the real interruption. Bounding from the doorway, the attorney grabbed Bursard
by the shoulder and spun him roughly to a chair.
      "Don't be a fool!" snapped Clewiss, his face red with excitement. "We
know
that we are trapped; that we are being overheard. This letter means business!
Let us settle it."
      There were nods from Wrightley and Radbourne. Bursard subsided in his
chair; Clewiss sat down and faced the others with a strained expression.
      "I won't try to run this," declared the lawyer. "I learned my lesson when
I found the door clamped. I'm not a man who quits under fire, but at the same
time -"
      "We understand," put in Radbourne, his tone relieved. "You are willing to
listen to any proposal that is made. Very well" - the financier turned
abruptly
to Wrightley - "let us have a motion regarding the contract."


     MAYOR WRIGHTLEY drew himself up in pompous fashion. He rapped with a
little gavel that lay on the table, then spoke in a compromising tone.
     "As Mayor of Dorchester," announced Wrightley, "it would be my duty to
ignore this letter. It is plain that the criminal who signs himself
Intimidation, Incorporated, intends to profit, if the stadium contract goes to
Ralph C. Markallan. We can assure ourselves that the Markallan company knows
nothing of this matter; that Markallan will, himself, be threatened later.
Under such circumstances, I -"
     "Give us the motion!" pleaded Radbourne. "There is no time for oratory,
your honor."
     "Let us have the motion," added Clewiss, his tone as stressed as
Radbourne's. "Time is short!"
     "I must finish my statement," insisted the mayor. "Under the
circumstances
mentioned, I feel that I cannot give my assent. However, as chairman of this
committee, I am willing to reserve my vote. The motion is made to give the
contract to Ralph C. Markallan."
     "Seconded."
     The expression came simultaneously from Radbourne and Clewiss. Promptly,
Mayor Wrightley put the matter to vote.
     "All in favor -"
     "Aye!"
     The word was chorused by Radbourne and Clewiss. Wrightley added:
     "All opposed -"
     "No!" Hugh Bursard came to his feet, as he shouted the dissenting vote.
"We can't go through with this! It is robbery; we will be publicly denounced!"
     "What does that matter?" demanded Radbourne. "It is better to be
denounced
than be dead."
     "Sit down, Bursard," snapped Clewiss. "You have been outvoted. The
contract goes to the Markallan company."
     "Not yet." Bursard turned triumphantly toward Wrightley. "You still have
a
vote, your honor."
     "I am neutral," pleaded the" mayor. "I announced myself to that effect."
     "You said that you would reserve your vote," reminded Bursard. "You have
done so. I now call upon you to use the vote that you reserved. Remember, too,
that you expressed yourself as against the motion."
     The mayor looked troubled. So did Radbourne, but the financier could find
no argument. It was Clewiss who took up cudgels with Bursard.


     "I SEE what you're after," declared the lawyer. "You think that the crook
won't go through with it. Maybe you're right, Bursard; but you're taking a
long
chance. Too long a one to suit me. After all, why shouldn't we give the
contract
to Markallan? His concern is the best of all those that made bids."
     "No better than Lubaker-Smythe," returned Bursard. "They offered to do
the
job for eight hundred thousand dollars less. That is why I object. The
difference is too great. Don't you see what we are up against? Where the bids
are known, we will be so badly criticized that we will have to make a
statement. Unless we make the true one - stating that we were threatened - no
one will believe us."
     "We can't state the truth," declared Mayor Wrightley. "That was one of
the
provisions set down by Intimidation, Incorporated."
     "Which places us in an absolute dilemma," argued Bursard, promptly. "We
are beaten either way. So why not face the menace today, instead of postponing
trouble?"
     Bursard's words carried weight. Clewiss looked toward the microphone, as
though hoping that a listening crook might show some charity. Radbourne saw
the
lawyer's gaze. The financier's face became vaguely hopeful. Mayor Wrightley
sat
with mumbling lips, too troubled to observe the others. He found his voice;
began a quaver.
     The mayor was starting to reverse his former statement. Preferring future
danger to a present one, he was about to cast an affirmative vote before
either
Clewiss or Radbourne could change theirs. A jangle of the telephone bell
stopped
the mayor. Shakily, he reached for the instrument.
     "We have been heard!" interjected Bursard, his tone hopeful. "Perhaps the
threat will be removed. The crook may see that it is useless."
     Clewiss gestured for silence. A stillness fell while Wrightley talked
over
the telephone. When he finished a brief conversation, the mayor sagged back in
his chair, then smiled.
     "It was from Lubaker-Smythe," declared Wrightley. "They say that they
made
an error in their bid. They underestimated. They want to withdraw the bid."
     "Ah!" exclaimed Radbourne. "They received a telephone call from the man
who has listened in on this conference."
     "No." Wrightley shook his head. "They started to say something about a
letter; then stopped. However, that does not matter. We are free to vote the
contract to Markallan, on the merits of his concern. All in favor"
     "Aye!"
     Bursard joined with Clewiss and Radbourne in the affirmative expression.
Wrightley picked up the telephone and made a prompt call to the Evening
Clarion, announcing that the bid had gone to Markallan. The deal with
Intimidation, Incorporated, was made. To conclude it, Mayor Wrightley solemnly
burned the letter and tossed it into a metal wastebasket.


     SHAKILY, the committee men arose. Bursard was the first to reach the
door.
He tried the knob, looked startled when he found that it still failed to turn.
      The Shadow, strolling up as a spectator, took hold of the knob and gave
it
a firm twist.
      "It wasn't locked at all!" ejaculated Radbourne, who saw the action. "The
inside knob was merely tightened, so that it would stick."
      "It fooled me," expressed Clewiss, angrily; then he added to Bursard:
"But
you fell for it, too."
      "I did," gritted Bursard, "but I'll be a fool no longer!"
      Striding across the room, Bursard grabbed up the microphone that stood on
the corner table. The other committee members gaped when they saw a loose cord
follow the instrument.
      The microphone was not attached to any circuit!
      Clewiss, not to be outdone, made a dive for the rug beneath the table. He
yanked it away. Instead of a bomb-filled hole, the viewers saw solid floor.
      Like the door and the microphone, the bomb threat was a bluff!
      Four angry men went into a huddle. Standing by the opened door, The
Shadow
could catch snatches of their conversation. It was too late to call off the
deal; the Evening Clarion was already printing news that the contract had gone
to the Markallan company.
      Then came a buzz of cautious words. Despite the fact that they had been
bluffed, the committee men were willing to agree that Intimidation,
Incorporated, was a real threat. The buzz became a whisper. The Shadow heard
no
more until Radbourne joined him at the door. Leaving the others, the financier
beckoned for The Shadow to follow him.
      Reaching the street, they entered Radbourne's car. The financier put a
prompt query:
      "We can rely upon you, Mr. Cranston, to keep this episode a secret."
      "Absolutely," replied The Shadow, calmly. "You may rest assured on that
point, Mr. Radbourne."
      "Good!" Radbourne looked relieved. "That will aid us immensely. We have
an
idea as to the identity of the culprit who threatened us."
      The Shadow's expression showed interest. Radbourne explained at length.
      "There is a racketeer in town," he confided, "who calls himself Sack
Balban. The rogue has been working within the law, running slot machines and
number games that are legalized in this State. There has been no way in which
to get rid of him."
      "In my opinion" - Radbourne spoke with emphasis - "Sack Balban is the man
behind Intimidation, Incorporated. He has evidently been successful with
previous threats. This time, he has gone too far. His game is ended. He chose
the wrong men.
      "Wrightley, as mayor, can make trouble for Balban. So can Clewiss, for he
will be our next district attorney. Bursard is also powerful, for he controls
Station MXDO and can use the air to denounce Balban. I have money and
influence; if need be, I can do as much as any.
      "By identifying Sack Balban with Intimidation, Incorporated, we have
paved
the way to a finish fight. It will not be long before someone visits the
racketeer, to notify him that his crooked game is ended. Just how soon that
visit will come, however, is something that I cannot predict."


     THE car stopped at the hotel where The Shadow had registered as Lamont
Cranston. Leaving Radbourne, The Shadow entered the hotel and went up to his
room. Dusk had settled; through the opened window, The Shadow could hear the
shouts of newsboys, already selling papers, that told about the stadium
contract.
     Concentrating a light upon a mirror, The Shadow opened a make-up box. He
began to press his face with his fingers, changing its contour; he added
waxlike fills that reduced the hawklike appearance of his visage. The Shadow's
lips changed expression; they took on a twist that resembled a leer.
     No one would identify this new face with either Lamont Cranston or The
Shadow. Certainly, Sack Balban would not guess the connection. The Shadow was
preparing a bluff of his own; one that would deceive the crook whom others
believed to be the man behind Intimidation, Incorporated.
     Newell Radbourne had predicted that Sack Balban would soon be visited by
someone who might handle him. The Shadow intended to schedule such a visit
earlier than Radbourne or any of his associates had planned it.
     If Sack Balban chanced to be the crook behind the game of bluff, he would
soon learn that two could play at such a hand.


     CHAPTER V

     CROOKS WELSH

      IT was not difficult to find Sack Balban. The racketeer, knowing the
loop-holes of the law, appeared quite openly on the streets of Dorchester. To
see Sack privately, however, was a ticklish task. The big-shot was particular
about receiving visitors.
      There were two methods of approach, both well-known but seldom used. The
first was to visit Sack's office, for the racketeer had a sumptuous suite
where
he handled his business. The trouble with that route was the necessity of an
appointment. Only persons who made arrangements beforehand could expect to
find
Sack at his office.
     The other approach to Sack Balban lay through a devious channel. It meant
forming an acquaintanceship with lesser crooks who dwelt in Dorchester.
Actually, they were Sack's tools, for the big-shot controlled the underworld
of
Dorchester.
     Sack was always ready to shake hands with rival big-shots who visited
Dorchester, provided the law was not on their trail.
     Soon after dusk, The Shadow left the hotel. It was not long before a hot
tip began to wangle along the criminal grapevine. A newcomer of known repute
was in town. He was "Link" Delvo, a crook who had beaten a dozen raps in as
many different States. As a hijacker, leader of a gorilla crew, and all-around
racketeer, Link Delvo had shown unusual versatility in the past.
     The word passed up the line swiftly. At quarter past eight that evening,
it reached a mahogany-furnished living room where half a dozen well-dressed
thugs were in session. Lounging about, this tribe was called to order by a
hunch-shouldered, dark-faced man who glowered from behind a small desk.
     This ugly individual, noted for his big-toothed grin, was "Nobby" Kilgan.
He was Sack Balban's chief lieutenant; those with him were the key-men who
handled the various rackets. When Sack was not on hand, the members of this
inner circle took orders from Nobby.
     "Just got a tip-off," announced Nobby. "There's a new guy in town and
he's
good enough to be one of us. Any of you bozos ever heard of Link Delvo?"
     The grunts that responded told that the name was recognized. Nobby
grinned; he picked up the telephone and gave an order to send Link upstairs.
The lieutenants stood about facing the door, anxious to see the arrival.


     LINK DELVO, when he entered, lived up to expectations. He was tall,
well-dressed, smooth of manner. His face was a full one, but hardened in
expression. His eyes glinted from low-set brows; beneath his broad nose were
lips that held a set expression. They showed a permanent gloat, that came from
a peculiar twist that could have been styled a half smile. It was plain,
however, that a smile could mean anything to Link Delvo.
     Out from behind the desk, Nobby Kilgan was the first to greet Link Delvo.
Nobby's big teeth showed a welcoming grin. Link's expression did not change as
Nobby introduced him to the others.
     The smile remained as permanent as when it had first shown in The
Shadow's
mirror. The Shadow was playing the part of Link Delvo to perfection.
     "Sit down, Link," suggested Nobby. "I hear you want to be in it with us."
     The Shadow raised his faked eyebrows, as if in question. Nobby grinned.
     "The news was piped to us," said the lieutenant. "You didn't do much
talking, though, Link. It was guesswork that made the little guys figure you
wanted to work for Sack Balban."
     "I said that I would like to meet him."
     "So I'm told. It was the way you said it that put the idea across. Well,
I'm sold, Link. Sack Balban is high man around here; but I rate second. He
leaves some things to me. Getting right guys is one of them. You're in."
     Nobby did not specify in what capacity Link Delvo would serve as a member
of Sack Balban's organization. That, apparently, was something that the
big-shot would decide. The Shadow expected to meet Sack shortly, for in
reaching this lair, he had gained a full idea of how Sack's headquarters were
arranged.
     This secreted apartment wherein Nobby and the other lieutenants
congregated was directly in back of the office building where Sack was
located.
A large door in the inner wall of the apartment showed a connection between.
     Nobby voiced an explanation of the fact that The Shadow had already
learned.
    "Sack's in his office," said the lieutenant, with a nudge toward the
door.
"He's in there talking with some guy. They've been beefing about something for
the last half hour. Whoever the mug is, it won't do him no good with Sack.
      "The rackets here are legit. I guess you know that already, Link. The
State law lets us license slot machines; and there's nothing in the books to
stop the numbers game. We've got other soft ways of snagging dough, too. The
take is plenty in this town."
      Nobby turned to one of the lieutenants, told him to turn on the radio.
      "Time for MXDO," remarked Nobby. "That sap Bursard is due to shoot his
face some more tonight. Sack always gets a kick out of it. He'll have a big
laugh tonight, listening to Bursard spring some alibi for handing out that fat
stadium contract."


      IT lacked only a few minutes of eight-thirty, when the door from Sack's
office opened and the big-shot appeared. Sack Balban was of chunky build; his
face was as wide as it was high. Short-clipped hair bristled above his low
forehead. His narrowed eyes glistened, showed suspicion when he saw The
Shadow.
      Nobby Kilgan introduced the visitor as Link Delvo. The name was all Sack
needed; he nodded his approval when Nobby said that he had signed up Link as a
new lieutenant.
      Nobby's reference to the stadium contract fitted the theory that Sack
Balban could be the man behind Intimidation, Incorporated; but one glance at
Sack's face produced speculation on The Shadow's part. Sack Balban was plainly
worried. Why he should be that way with matters going well, was a question.
Sack, himself, produced new angles when he shot a query to Nobby Kilgan.
      "What about Brad and Skeet?" demanded the big-shot. "Did you talk to
them,
Nobby?"
      "Sure," returned Nobby. "They stuck to their story and it sounded
straight
to me. Brad got the dope that he and Skeet were to put the torch to Lenning's.
Skeet did it and Brad covered."
      "What about The Shadow?"
      "They said he was there; but that don't mean nothing, Sack. Sounded like
a
pipe dream to me. What I'd like to know is who was wise to the password. Brad
says he got it over the telephone; that's why he thought it was from you."
      Sack Balban nodded. Pulling his left hand from his pocket, he laid some
objects on the table. They were obviously items that he had brought from his
desk. One was a folded paper; another, a small bottle of pills. The medicine
was evidently usual with Sack, for one of the lieutenants promptly filled a
glass of seltzer water and put it on the table.
      "I'm wise to plenty," announced Sack, with a sudden growl. "Listen, you
lugs. There's been a lot pulled while we've been standing by. I've found out
why Julian Reth sold out the Apex Dye Works to James Blosser; why Martin
Lambroke paid plenty for stuff that Blosser bought; why Blosser turned around
and got rid of the three hundred grand the deal brought him.
      "I know now why Ludwig Meldon went haywire and got rid of his power
stock.
He took it on the chin, for a quarter million! And I can tell you guys why he
was bumped - yeah, rubbed out along with Lenning, even though the bulls think
it was suicide. It was so he couldn't squawk and then lam town."


     STIFF silence had come over the listeners. Crooks were awed at the
realization that some master criminal had found ways of competing with their
rackets. More than half a million dollars had poured into unknown coffers.
Somehow, Sack Balban had managed to piece those facts.
      "What's more," added Sack, "I've got the lowdown on that stadium
contract.
The same big guy is behind it. He threatened people before. He did it again
today. Wrightley, Bursard, Clewiss, Radbourne - all four of them fell for his
line.
      "How do I know? Because I've just talked with one of them. He came around
to soft soap me, thinking I was the bird behind this threat stuff. They had to
throw that contract to Markallan, and it's a cinch that Markallan will have to
cough over his profit later."
      Sack paused to open the pill bottle. He dumped out a couple of pellets,
tossed them on his tongue and took a long swallow of seltzer. The station
announcement was coming from MXDO; Sack motioned for someone to turn it down.
      "I didn't hear much tonight," growled Sack, "but I heard enough to know
what the guy was driving at. The thing that put me wise was a letter that I
got
today, handing me the same stuff that those other birds fell for. Take a
gander
at it, Nobby."
      Nobby spread the letter. His eyes bulged.
      "Who's this Intimidation, Incorporated?" he asked. "It sounds screwy to
me."
      "Yeah?" grunted Sack. "Read what he wants."
      "A cut out of our take!" exclaimed Nobby. "A third of everything we clean
up from the racket! To have fifty grand for a starter, laying in your office,
with the door unlocked, at six o'clock tonight. Says you'll be rubbed out if
you don't go through with it."
      "And he's got the crust to suggest how I can manage it," added Sack.
"Instead of going fifty-fifty with you boys, there's to be a three-way split
from now on. This Intimidation guy, whoever he is, has figured out how we've
been working."
      The radio announcer had finished. He was introducing Hugh Bursard,
stating
that the owner of MXDO would speak on civic improvement. Apparently, Bursard
was
postponing discussion of the stadium contract. Sack Balban paid no attention
to
the radio. It was tuned low; besides, he had something of his own to announce.
      "Intimidation, Incorporated," sneered Sack. "He says to destroy this
letter.
      "O.K. Here it goes." He applied a match to the sheet of paper. "This is
the end of the whole thing. If the lug thinks he can get me, let him try! I
gave him his answer. I locked the door and left it that way. Maybe he can
bluff
old Wrightley; and Clewiss, the guy that's going to be a smart D.A. Maybe he
can
slip it past Radbourne and Bursard -"


     SACK paused, rigid. His eyes were straight across the room, looking
toward
the radio cabinet from which the voice of the man last mentioned was coming in
its low, modulated tone. Sack gripped the edge of the table, stared directly
ahead. For a moment, it seemed as though he had concentrated on the radio;
then
there came another explanation for his self-interruption.
     The burning paper had dropped. Its final flame licked a rug fringe, then
was extinguished as a human form fell upon it. Sack Balban's hold upon the
desk
was lost. Eyes still rigid in their sockets, the big-shot's ugly face glared
from the floor as his sagging body ended its collapse.
     Crooks sprang beside the inert shape of their fallen chief. One looked up
with startled eyes; his lips twitched as they gave the news:
     "Croaked! The finger was on him! They got Sack Balban!"
     Nobby Kilgan snatched up the bottle of pills. He recognized how death had
struck.
     "Sack always left these lying around," recalled Nobby. "That's how he was
croaked. By the guy who was in talking to him tonight. One of the four mugs on
that committee. Sack said that much. Only which one -"
     "Rub out all of 'em!" snarled a lieutenant. "You're the big-shot, Nobby,
now that Sack's gone."
     "We can't go that strong," argued Nobby. "Not a chance! The rackets would
be through. We've got to dope out who's the guy to get. He's double-crossed
his
own bunch and they don't know it. He bluffed Sack, then croaked him."
     From the floor, Nobby scooped a handful of ashes, the remnant of the
letter that Sack had received.
     "I'll be getting one of these," predicted Nobby. "When it comes, we'll
pay
up." He looked around the group. "Any squawks?"
     None came. Amid awed silence, Nobby added: "We pay."
     With that, the new big-shot waved his lieutenants from his presence. The
Shadow, last to leave, paused at the door. Nobby, staring at the flattened
form
of Sack Balban, did not observe the face of Link Delvo in the doorway.
     Crooks had welshed. Nobby Kilgan, the new big-shot, had paved the way.
The
Shadow, viewing the scene where Sack Balban lay dead, had gained new proof of
the power that a master criminal possessed.
     The Shadow foresaw the need for deep strategy in the coming campaign
against Intimidation, Incorporated.


    CHAPTER VI

    THE SHADOW REPORTS

     THE next morning, The Shadow paid a visit to Nobby Kilgan. He found the
newly crowned king in the hidden apartment where Sack had died. Though Nobby
was pleased to see Link Delvo, he betrayed a certain glumness which was
explained when he produced a letter that had come in the morning's mail.
     Nobby's letter was from Intimidation, Incorporated. It laid down the same
terms that had been given Sack Balban; but it specified no advance payment.
Nobby was to nourish the rackets that he had inherited from Sack; to deliver a
third of the proceeds when called for.
     "The guy's got me licked," admitted Nobby, as he burned the letter.
"He'll
have some cinch way of making me pass over the dough. He knows I won't squawk,
after what happened to Sack."
     The Shadow's expression showed no change, but the odd smile that adorned
the face of Link Delvo seemed to house a plan. Nobby noted it, with glowery
glance, and waited for The Shadow to speak.
     "Sack figured who was in back of Intimidation, Incorporated," said The
Shadow, in the hard tone of Link. "His idea was that the guy who visited him
ran the racket."
     "Yeah," agreed Nobby. "It was one of four birds: Wrightley, Clewiss,
Bursard, or Radbourne. Wait, Link - one of those is out."
     "Hugh Bursard?"
     "Yeah. How did you guess it?"
     "The same way you did, Nobby. Sack dropped dead inside of five minutes
after he came from his office. Right then, Bursard was talking over the radio.
He couldn't have got to the radio station in only five minutes."
     Nobby's toothy grin showed admiration. Pacing the floor, he paused to
whack The Shadow's shoulder.
     "You got it, Link," approved Nobby. "You've used the old bean, since
you've been in Dorchester. You figured out a few things about the town. It's a
good twenty minutes from here over to Station MXDO. Bursard couldn't have made
the jump. But there's still three to pick from: Wrightley, Clewiss and
Radbourne. I'd like to know their alibis."
     "Suppose I check them for you," suggested The Shadow: "I'll call on all
three, telling them that I'm in the market for concessions at the exposition."
     Nobby gaped. The daring plan left him astonished.
     "Mayor Wrightley is a handshaker," continued The Shadow. "He won't guess
I'm in the racket. Elwood Clewiss is going to be D.A.; he'll look me over, for
future reference. Newell Radbourne is a big money man. He'll listen to anybody
who talks box-car numbers."
     The logic appealed to Nobby. He applied another whack to The Shadow's
shoulder.
     "Go to it," approved Nobby. "After you've talked to those lugs, drop into
the office instead of here. I want to get your report, without the other boys
listening in on it."


     LEAVING the rendezvous, The Shadow went to the hotel where he had
registered as Cranston. Reaching his room unnoticed, he changed his disguise.
As Lamont Cranston, he left the hotel. Soon afterward, he made his first stop
at the office of Mayor Jonathan Wrightley.
     After a half hour's sojourn with the mayor, The Shadow looked up Elwood
Clewiss. He had lunch with the lawyer. Later in the afternoon, he found Newell
Radbourne at the financier's residence. As Cranston, The Shadow spent nearly
an
hour with Radbourne.
     Returning to his hotel, he changed to the guise of Link Delvo. It was
nearly dusk when he finally arrived at Nobby Kilgan's office.
     There, The Shadow found the new big-shot anxiously awaiting him. Seating
himself across the desk from Nobby, The Shadow drew some papers from his
pocket. With the twisted smile of Link Delvo, he began his smooth report.
     He told that Mayor Wrightley was alibied out because he had been
toastmaster at a banquet the previous evening from seven until nine-thirty.
Elwood Clewiss had worked late, then had dinner with lawyer friends, covering
the period of the murder.
     More checking had proven to The Shadow that Radbourne had gone to New
York
by train immediately after the committee meeting, and had not returned until
morning.
     The evidence floored Nobby Kilgan. He sat silent for a full three
minutes,
then spat his verdict.
     "We're on the wrong track," decided Nobby. "Sack didn't spill enough
before he croaked; or maybe he was just guessing at something. Bursard,
Wrightley, Clewiss, Radbourne - they're all in the clear. Say - who did croak
Sack Balban?"
     Nobby shot the question as if he expected The Shadow to answer it. The
Shadow replied; this time, his tone was hardened.
     "I've heard some wise cracks around town," he told Nobby. "That grapevine
of yours works both ways. The cracks came from some lugs who were with you
when
Sack croaked."
     "Yeah?" demanded Nobby. "What were they?"
     "Talk about the three-way split," put The Shadow, harshly. "Some mugs
have
it figured that you staged the racket yourself. By croaking Sack and taking
his
place, you'd have been sure of fifty per cent of the take. That didn't bother
them. What they don't like is the idea that you could scare the bunch with
this
Intimidation bunk and change it into a three-way split. Two shares for
yourself:
one as Nobby Kilgan, the other as Intimidation, Incorporated."
     Nobby was on his feet, fuming, before The Shadow had finished. His right
hand shot to his hip; it stopped when Nobby saw The Shadow's hand slide out of
sight, beneath his coat. If it came to guns, Nobby knew that Link Delvo would
beat him to the draw.
     "All right, wise guy," decided Nobby, bringing his empty hand to view.
"I'll spill something the grapevine hasn't got yet. While you were out
checking
up, I called the real guys together and told them about the letter that I
showed
you.
     "I told them they could figure me as big-shot and take orders like they
did from Sack. Only all the dough we take is divided equal, savvy? After we
cut
one-third for this Intimidation guy. You know what that means? I'd get less
dough than Sack used to get, even if I grabbed the one-third for myself."
     Nobby's heated outburst ended. Slouching into his chair, he leaned across
the desk and added cannily:
     "Be around to the apartment in about an hour. The bunch is meeting then.
Forget that I got sore. You're still in, Link."


     NOBBY waved his hand for dismissal. In Link's deliberate style, The
Shadow
went from the office. Hardly had the door clicked before Nobby sprang to the
connecting door that led to the rear apartment.
     Reaching that rendezvous, he found two men waiting. They were the pair
that The Shadow had encountered at Lenning's: Brad, his right arm bulging with
bandages; Skeet, stubbly faced and sharp-eyed.
     "Get going, you two," snapped Nobby. "I want you to case Link Delvo. He
went out by the front. Tail him. If you get him boxed, tip me off. I'll send a
flock of torpedoes after him."
     Brad and Skeet departed. Nobby sat at the table, poured himself a stiff
drink. An idea had struck Nobby. He believed that he had found the man in back
of Intimidation, Incorporated. Nobby's choice was Link Delvo.
     Little did Nobby realize that The Shadow had taunted him with direct
purpose; namely, to make sure that Nobby was not concerned in the game. The
Shadow had believed it unlikely that Nobby represented Intimidation,
Incorporated; but he wanted to remove the possibility. He had done so by his
direct charge. In so doing, The Shadow had put himself on the spot. He was
through as Link Delvo.


     OUTSIDE, The Shadow was strolling along the street in the fashion of Link
Delvo. In the gathering darkness, he recognized the presence of lurkers. As
clearly as if he had witnessed the scene in Nobby's rendezvous, The Shadow
knew
what to expect.
     As he reached a lighted street near the center of Dorchester, he
recognized the men who were tailing him: first Brad, then Skeet.
     Slowing his pace, The Shadow waited while Skeet slipped into a doorway.
Boarding a taxi, The Shadow told the driver to take him to the railroad
station. The order, given in Link Delvo's tone, was loud enough for Skeet to
hear. When the taxi reached the station, another cab pulled up behind it. Brad
and Skeet alighted as soon as Link Delvo was out of sight.
      Spying, the pair saw their quarry obtain a suitcase from the parcel room.
They watched him buy a ticket. They saw The Shadow, as unconcerned as ever,
come back to the taxi stand and tell a cabby to take him to the Forrest Hotel.
Actually, The Shadow had stopped at the Dorchester House, a pretentious hotel
that suited Lamont Cranston. The Forrest was an old hotel in a decadent
neighborhood; the sort of place where Link Delvo would stay.
      The news suited Brad and Skeet. It was Brad who put in a quick call to
Nobby Kilgan, telling him where Link Delvo had gone. Brad received orders to
head for the Forrest, taking Skeet with him. Nobby promised that Link would be
spotted when he arrived; that torpedoes would be there with guns.
      When he reached the Forrest Hotel, The Shadow sized the situation from
the
cab window. He spotted lurkers across the street from the disreputable place.
He
saw men in the lobby, smoking at the front window that opened on the street.
He
knew that they were tools of Nobby Kilgan.
      Alighting, The Shadow paid the driver. Instead of going in by the front,
he strolled toward a side route - a blind alley that terminated in the stone
wall of a one-story garage, but afforded a side entrance into the hotel.
      Lurking thugs closed in at the mouth of the passage. A rakish touring car
drew up; a machine gun muzzle loomed from its side. In the lobby, watchers
caught a signal from outside. They arose, went to the side door and began to
play a pin game, watching the only door by which Link Delvo could enter. Guns
bulged on the hips of these torpedoes.
      Five minutes later, two cabs stopped near the Forrest. Out of one came
Nobby Kilgan; from the other, Brad and Skeet. A thug joined the trio; he gave
a
quick report:
      "We've boxed Link Delvo. He must have wised to something, so he did a
sneak into the alley. Must 'a' thought he could get into the hotel; then found
out he couldn't. He's in there, wondering what to do next."
      Nobby gave the prompt order: "Let him have it!"
      Arms passed the signal. A dozen thugs came to action. The touring car
pulled squarely in front of the alley; its machine gun began a withering
clatter, pouring a spray of devastating lead into the darkness that had last
concealed Link Delvo. The bullets scoured every inch of the garage wall.
      The touring car rolled away; its occupants firing in the air to attract
the attention of police and lead them on a false chase. Immediately, lurking
thugs poured toward the alleyway with flashlights. Some of these torpedoes
dashed in from the street; others through the side exit from the lobby. Their
job was to lug away the body of Link Delvo and make their get-away in waiting
cars.
      Nobby followed his torpedoes from the street. He reached the wall with
them; stopped and gawked as he stared at a sight against the stone blockade.
Upon a bullet-riddled ash can lay an opened suitcase that had received its
share of the leaden hail. This was the only evidence that the alley had held a
human occupant. Despite the cement sidewalk and the concrete wall, Link Delvo
had vanished as mysteriously as a ghost.


     SIRENS were wailing from the distance. The police were on the job.
Savagely, Nobby Kilgan ordered his dozen torpedoes to make their get-away.
     Thugs poured from the alley, their leader with them. They were gone by
the
time the officers arrived. The police, too, found nothing but the suitcase.
     They decided that they had been summoned to a false alarm.
     As the officers departed, a whispered laugh came from atop the garage
roof. A black-cloaked figure arose, moved along the roof amid darkness, and
dropped to a side street. Choosing an obscure route, that mysterious traveler
reached the Dorchester House. He entered by a rear door and ascended a
darkened
stairway.
     In his own room, The Shadow removed the cloak and hat that he had taken
from the suitcase before scaling the garage wall. That ascent had been a
simple
task. Using the ash can as a pedestal, The Shadow had gripped rough surfaces
in
the concrete. Fingers had clutched; soft-tipped shoes had allowed a toehold.
Five feet of scaling had enabled him to grip the edge of the garage roof.
     Here in the hotel room, The Shadow removed the features that he wore. He
replaced the face of Link Delvo with that of Lamont Cranston. That
accomplished, he reviewed his day's work.
     The Shadow had handled Nobby Kilgan well. Not only had he learned that
Nobby was not hooked up with Intimidation, Incorporated, he had bluffed Nobby
into thinking that Link Delvo was. That was an important gain, for it meant
that Nobby Kilgan would not find a trail to the real master crook.
     Today, The Shadow had learned a fact that he had not told Nobby.
Markallan, the contractor who gained the stadium bid, had already been plucked
of half a million dollars through the purchase of certain worthless stocks. It
was obvious that Markallan had been told to make an overbid for the stadium
contract; by gaining the bid, Markallan would be able to pay back funds that
he
had borrowed to buy the stocks. Like other unfortunates, the contractor had
been
threatened by Intimidation, Incorporated. That trail was closed.
     The facts that The Shadow had revealed to Nobby were correct, however.
Hugh Bursard had gone on the air at eight-thirty from MXDO. Mayor Wrightley
had
been toastmaster at a banquet. Elwood Clewiss had worked late; had dined from
eight to eight-thirty. Newell Radbourne had gone to New York. Apparently none
of the four could have visited Sack Balban and sent the big-shot to his doom.
     Yet one of those four was the master crook, despite his alibi. Not only
was The Shadow positive on that point, he was ready to pick the right man, the
master criminal who controlled Intimidation, Incorporated. As yet, however, it
would be a mistake to denounce the murderer.
     The Shadow knew that the supercrook was confident, and would therefore
plan another swindle, bolder than any threat that he had made before. The
Shadow foresaw the opportunity that the hidden crook would choose.
     When the next move came, The Shadow would be ready with a counterthrust -
a daring challenge to the evil schemes of Intimidation, Incorporated.


    CHAPTER VII

    THE SHADOW'S THREAT

     IT was the next afternoon. The city of Dorchester was unruffled. The fact
that there had been gunplay the night before was not enough to disturb the
calm. Police, after thorough investigation, had classed the shooting as a mere
outburst that had harmed no one.
     There were people in Dorchester who knew of the evil menace that loomed
over the city: the threat of Intimidation, Incorporated. Those persons,
however, were keeping a discreet silence. The deaths of Ludwig Meldon and Sack
Balban were sufficient.
     Those deaths, though, meant nothing to the vast majority of the
Dorchester
population. The law had emphatically proven that both Meldon and Sack were
merely suicides.
     The one news feature on this particular day was the final hearing in the
case of Kroot versus Radbourne. The obscure inventor and the important
financier were to appear in court before Judge Hancock Noy, the elderly jurist
before whom the case had been argued. Chances seemed about even that Kroot
would collect his two hundred thousand dollars from the Interstate Textile Co.
     At noon, The Shadow attended a civic club luncheon in the guise of Lamont
Cranston. He was there at the request of Mayor Wrightley, and he made a brief
speech telling of the proposed Oriental exhibit at the State exposition. When
the luncheon was over, The Shadow was about to say good-bye to the mayor when
Hugh Bursard approached and motioned for both to remain.
     "I'd like your advice, Mayor Wrightley," confided Bursard, "and perhaps
Mr. Cranston's suggestions would be helpful. Unfortunately, I cannot talk to
either Clewiss or Radbourne -"
     "One moment, Bursard," interrupted Wrightley, nervously. "I do not care
to
discuss our last conference. The matter of the stadium contract is closed."
     "This is another matter, your honor," insisted Bursard. "Please bear with
me, while I state the case. If I mention the stadium contract, it will be only
for our mutual benefit."
     Bursard's modulated tone impressed the mayor. Nodding, Wrightley
indicated
his willingness to listen.
     "In my nightly broadcasts," explained Bursard, "I usually mention current
topics. For the last two nights, I have completely ignored the subject of the
stadium contract, for reasons known to ourselves. That neglect of a current
topic has brought a flood of letters from persons who listen to my program."
     Wrightley's side whiskers showed a tremor as he heard this discouraging
news. Bursard, too, was troubled as he proceeded.


     "MY only course," explained Bursard, "is either to talk about the
contract
or feed the public some other topic that is timely. What do you think of the
latter course?"
     "Excellent!" exclaimed the mayor. "A fine idea, Bursard! Proceed with it
at your first opportunity. Draw attention away from the matter of the
contract."
     "Unfortunately," returned Bursard, "there is only one topic that I can
use. It is the court case to be decided this afternoon. The claim of Ray Kroot
against Interstate Textile."
     The significance dawned on the mayor. He pondered; then slowly voiced the
objection that he knew was in Bursard's mind.
     "I understand," said Wrightley. "However that case is decided, it will be
bad for either Clewiss or Radbourne. Clewiss represents the inventor;
Radbourne
owns the Interstate Textile Co. It will be ticklish, Bursard."
     "I know it, admitted Bursard. "However, I shall try to be impartial. I
shall attend the court session myself, and give a fair report of whatever
occurs there. I hope, though, that the man who loses will not be angered after
my broadcast. I value the friendships of both Clewiss and Radbourne."
     "Of course," agreed Wrightley, warmly. He considered for a moment, then
added: "Suppose I speak to both men beforehand and explain what you intend to
do. After all, it will be for their benefit, as well as ours."
     "That would help," decided Bursard. "But be sure that you convince them
that my plan is entirely impartial."
     "I'll do that," promised the mayor. "I shall see both of them before the
trial. That will make it absolutely fair, since the case will be undecided at
the time I speak with them."
    LEAVING the two men, The Shadow went to his hotel. It was two o'clock
when
he arrived there. He stayed only a short while, then set out for the
courthouse.
The hearing was to take place at half past two. The Shadow had already decided
to be there.
     The Shadow had good reason to be present. The case of Kroot versus
Interstate Textile was vitally important. It meant either a transfer or a
saving of two hundred thousand dollars, according to which side won. Whichever
the victor, The Shadow could see a vulture waiting to seize the spoils. The
patent suit promised a new opportunity for Intimidation, Incorporated.
     Convinced that the master crook's hand would again be revealed today, The
Shadow arrived early at the courthouse. As he was going up the granite steps,
he saw another car pull up. From it stepped Elwood Clewiss. Nodding to someone
in the car, Clewiss fished out a stack of loose papers and tucked them under
his arm. As the car drove away, The Shadow saw the bewhiskered face of Mayor
Wrightley at the automobile window.
     When he reached the corridor outside the courtroom, The Shadow
encountered
Hugh Bursard. The head of MXDO was smoking a cigar. He seemed pleased to see
Lamont Cranston. Bursard drew The Shadow to the side of the corridor.
     "Newell Radbourne was here early," said Bursard in an undertone. "I saw
him alone in the courtroom. An attendant came and summoned him to the
telephone. I am sure he received a call from Mayor Wrightley."
     "I saw the mayor outside," informed The Shadow, in the even voice of
Cranston. "He was talking to Elwood Clewiss. They came in the mayor's car."
     "Good!" Bursard was pleased by the news. "Let's go into the courtroom."


     THE courtroom was almost empty when they entered. Newell Radbourne was
seated within the railed enclosure. As The Shadow and Bursard took seats, a
door opened and Judge Noy arrived from his chambers. The gowned jurist was a
kindly faced old man, who looked the part of a fair-minded arbiter.
     As the judge took his place at the bench, three lawyers appeared from
another doorway. They were corporation attorneys, representing Interstate
Textile. They gathered at the defense table. A few minutes later, Elwood
Clewiss appeared, accompanied by the plaintiff, Ray Kroot.
     Clewiss took a table where a small pile of papers was already stacked. To
them, he added those that he had brought from the automobile. While Clewiss
was
busy, Kroot looked about the courtroom. The Shadow saw the inventor's face,
weary and haggard. He watched Kroot spy Newell Radbourne.
     There was anger in Kroot's gaze, pitiful though it was. The Shadow saw
Radbourne meet the inventor's stare. Radbourne's response was not unfriendly.
His thin face showed a smile that carried no malice. For a moment, it seemed
to
impress Kroot; then the inventor turned and began to talk to Clewiss.
     Judge Noy rapped for order. The lawyers began brief summaries of their
respective cases. One attorney for the Interstate Textile spoke blandly,
saying
that it was not the corporation's purpose to deprive an inventor of money that
he thought due him, but that corporations - like individuals - must protect
themselves against unfair demands. The speech was a weak one. Newell Radbourne
shook his head when the attorney sat down.
     "That's the case all right," whispered Bursard, to The Shadow. "Radbourne
isn't stingy. He'd pay if he thought Kroot had a just claim. But that lawyer
gummed it badly. Clewiss will make that fellow look like two cents."
     Bursard was simply voicing the thought that everyone else held. Watching
Clewiss, the spectators saw the future district attorney smile in confidence.
Judge Noy looked toward Clewiss, waiting for him to begin his plea. At that
moment, an attendant entered the courtroom and approached the bench. He handed
a folded paper to the judge.
      The Shadow could catch the words that the attendant's lips phrased. He
was
telling the judge that he had received the letter from a messenger; that it
was
marked important.
      Judge Noy opened the letter. A strange expression came to his kindly
face.
The Shadow observed the tenseness of Noy's eyes. He knew immediately what the
letter meant.
      Judge Noy had received a threat from Intimidation, Incorporated.


     WATCHING the judge, The Shadow gained an inkling to the message. It was
obvious that the judge had been warned to render a decision one way or the
other. That would have caused Judge Noy no concern, if the demand called for
the proper decision. At this moment, it was obvious that when Clewiss finished
his plea, the judge would have to decide in favor of Ray Kroot. The inventor's
cause would be established as soon as proper arguments were heard.
     Judge Noy looked shaky as he laid the letter aside. The Shadow knew at
once what Intimidation, Incorporated, had demanded. Under threat of death,
Judge Noy had been told to decide the case against the inventor.
     For a short while, it looked as though the judge had weakened. His
countenance told all to The Shadow. Then the elderly jurist became more firm.
Gripping his gavel, he rapped for order and looked toward Elwood Clewiss. It
was plain to The Shadow that Judge Noy was ready to defy the threat of
Intimidation, Incorporated.
     Elwood Clewiss arose with a confident smile. He stated that, in his
summary, he would refer to certain documents to prove conclusively that Ray
Kroot should be awarded damages. He sorted through papers that he had picked
up
from those on the table. Suddenly, he stopped; let all drop but one.
     Again, The Shadow saw an expression of bewilderment. Elwood Clewiss had
lost all signs of confidence. His eyes were bulging; his rugged face had
paled.
His firm mouth twitched; there was a sag to his iron jaw.
     Again, The Shadow knew his answer.
     Elwood Clewiss had found a strange document among the papers that formed
his own brief. He, like Judge Noy, had received a letter from Intimidation,
Incorporated. Its order was unquestionably identical with the one that had
been
delivered to the judge's bench.
     Unless Clewiss let the verdict go against his client, he would rest under
a threat of death!
     It was half a minute before Clewiss spoke. When he finally found words,
his voice was weak. Crumpling the letter, he thrust it into his pocket. In
strained tones, he made the statement that his client's case had been fully
heard; that he simply asked that justice be awarded to Ray Kroot.
     Slumping at his table, Clewiss buried his head in his hands. Triumph
showed at the table opposite, where the corporation lawyers gloated. A buzz
swept the courtroom while Kroot gripped wildly at his lawyer's arm, trying to
rouse him.
     Watching Judge Noy, The Shadow saw the elderly jurist shake his head in
saddened fashion. Judge Noy knew why Clewiss had fluked the case. Under the
circumstances, the judge could do nothing but award the verdict to Interstate
Textile.
     True, the circumstances relieved Judge Noy of the menace which threatened
him; but he had already made up his mind to brave the danger. Therefore, he
was
not pleased. Pounding slowly with his gavel, he called for silence. A buzz
ended. In grave tones, the judge announced that through lack of sufficient
claim on the part of the inventor, Ray Kroot, the case was dismissed.
     Intimidation, Incorporated, had scored another victory; this time through
a double-barreled threat. Reaching both the judge and the lawyer for the
plaintiff, the master criminal had gambled that one or the other would weaken.


     THE SHADOW accompanied Hugh Bursard from the courtroom. Going down the
outside steps, Bursard expressed his opinion in a troubled tone.
     "I can't understand it," he declared. "It looked as though Clewiss quit
cold. It puts me in a bad position, Mr. Cranston. A very bad one! I shall have
to handle this tactfully."
     "On account of Clewiss?"
     "Yes. On account of Radbourne, too. Don't you see what the inference will
be? People will think that there was a tie-up between the two. If that idea
gains credence, they will attribute it to the fact that both Clewiss and
Radbourne were on the exposition committee."
     "And that will lead to the matter of the stadium contract."
     "Exactly! I fought that mess as well as I could." Bursard paused, his
fists clenched; then added: "I wish that I had fought that contract business
to
the finish. Sooner or later, someone will have to denounce Intimidation,
Incorporated, to the public. When the time comes, I would like to be the man
to
do it."
     For a moment, Bursard's attitude was one of outright defiance; then a
shudder swept over him.
     "I am helpless," he admitted, wearily. "Alone, I could dare to act. But
whatever I do will involve three others. I must think of Wrightley - of
Clewiss
- of Radbourne -"
     A shake of his head marked Bursard's self-interruption. The long-faced
man
placed his hand to his high forehead. The Shadow steadied him and waved for a
taxi that was on the other side of the street. Pitifully, Bursard whispered:
     "Perhaps - perhaps Intimidation, Incorporated, was behind this thing that
happened today. Perhaps, in a few days, Newell Radbourne will receive another
threat -"
     "Wait until then," suggested The Shadow. "Keep up your nerve, Bursard.
The
best we can do is wait."
     Bursard nodded and managed a weak smile.
     "My promise went with the others," reminded The Shadow, calmly. "We must
all preserve silence regarding Intimidation, Incorporated."
     The Shadow put Bursard into the cab, told the driver to take him to MXDO.
Bursard was steadying as he rode away. The Shadow watched the cab as it turned
the block; then looked toward the courthouse. He saw Newell Radbourne coming
down the steps, receiving the congratulations of his lawyers.
     Elwood Clewiss appeared a few minutes later. He came alone, no longer
accompanied by the inventor, Kroot. Eyes to the ground, hands deep in his
pockets, the threatened lawyer shuffled away in gloomy fashion.


    THE SHADOW rode by cab to his hotel. Alone in his room, he stared from
the
window, a slight smile on his lips. Events today had come exactly as he had
anticipated. He was picturing exactly why Intimidation, Incorporated, had made
the courtroom thrust.
     Among various reasons, one seemed most obvious. The master villain wanted
the two hundred thousand dollars that had been at stake today. Therefore, the
supercrook had paved the way to a coming threat. If Kroot had won, there would
have been an obstacle. The inventor would probably have accepted time-payment
terms from the textile corporation. He would not have had the full funds
available for a long while to come.
     Newell Radbourne, on the contrary, had saved two hundred thousand
dollars,
which he had already counted as lost. Radbourne would have the sum available,
and could spare it. In addition, Radbourne was a man who had already quailed
before the threat of Intimidation, Incorporated.
     Soon, Radbourne would find out how hollow his victory had been. His
dismay
would come when he received a new letter from Intimidation, Incorporated,
calling for the payment of two hundred thousand dollars. That letter, however,
would not reach him immediately. It seemed to be a policy with Intimidation,
Incorporated, to proceed with a cold calculation; never in a hurry.
     It was upon that very factor that The Shadow had gambled. He, too, had
waited. He had given a hidden crook a chance for another thrust. Thereby, The
Shadow had gained an opportunity of his own. He was prepared to act while the
master crook waited.
     From a corner of the room, The Shadow produced a portable typewriter. He
inserted a sheet of paper and began to type in deliberate fashion. The words
that he inscribed were similar to those that he had seen before. Beginning
with
the statement, "Dear Sir - ", The Shadow inscribed a letter. When he had
finished, he typed a signature in bold capital letters: "INTIMIDATION,
INCORPORATED."
     Calmly, The Shadow typed an address on an envelope, then sealed the
letter
and stamped it. He stepped out to the mail chute, smiled again as he held the
letter, then let it drop down the chute. That final instant allowed the hall
lights to reveal the name and address on the envelope.
     The letter that The Shadow had mailed was addressed to Newell Radbourne.


    CHAPTER VIII

    THE BROADCAST

     SHORTLY before eight o'clock that same evening, The Shadow was finishing
dinner in the dining room of the Dorchester House when an official car pulled
up in front. A plain-clothes man entered and inquired for Lamont Cranston.
When
informed that Mr. Cranston was in the dining room, the dick entered and
approached The Shadow.
     The officer had a message from the mayor, to the effect that his honor
was
in the car outside and would like to have Mr. Cranston join him.
     A few minutes later, The Shadow was in the car with Wrightley. The mayor
told the plain-clothes man to return to headquarters; through the speaking
tube
he ordered the chauffeur to drive to the building housing MXDO. As the car
rolled along, Wrightley began to talk.
     "I have just seen Clewiss," said the mayor, in troubled tone. "He had
been
trying to get in touch with me ever since the trial this afternoon. Something
terrible has happened. Clewiss received another threat from Intimidation,
Incorporated!"
     "So that was it!" expressed The Shadow, in a tone of surprise. "I was
there with Bursard. We were both puzzled by the way Clewiss acted."
     "He had to drop the case," explained Wrightley. "It was as good as won
for
Ray Kroot when Clewiss found a message among his papers. It threatened him
with
death!"
     "How did the letter come there?"
     "Clewiss can't explain it. He left some papers in the courtroom in the
morning; he had others with him when I went with him to the courthouse this
afternoon. The letter could have been in either batch. But that is
unimportant.
Our main objective is to reach Hugh Bursard before he begins his broadcast."
     The Shadow understood. He knew that if Bursard chose to criticize the
trial, most of the blame would be placed upon Elwood Clewiss. It was plain
that
under the circumstances, Clewiss could not risk a personal interview with
Bursard. Therefore, he had chosen Mayor Wrightley as an intermediary.
     The car reached the office building where MXDO was located. The Shadow
was
already familiar with this part of town; he observed, however, that the
building
was dark for seven floors. Only the eighth, the top floor, was lighted. The
broadcasting station was on that floor.
     The car pulled up at a special entrance that was used only for the radio
station. The Shadow and the mayor went up by a special elevator, in a detached
portion of the building.


     STEPPING from the elevator, they saw the glass window of the broadcasting
room, but Bursard was not in sight. Wrightley urged The Shadow along the
corridor, with the statement that they would find Bursard in his private
office. They entered an office marked "Director"; there, a bespectacled young
man halted them before they could reach an inner door marked "Private."
     "You must wait here, gentlemen," stated the young man. "I am Mr.
Bursard's
secretary. I cannot allow him to be disturbed."
     "I am the mayor of Dorchester," returned Wrightley. "Tell Mr. Bursard
that
I must see him."
     "But he is preparing his broadcast," insisted the secretary. "He will be
going on the air in a few minutes -"
     "Tell him that we are here!"
     Wrightley's pompous order overruled the secretary's objections. After a
moment's hesitation, the young man pounded on the private door. In a second,
the door swung open. Bursard stood indignant on the threshold, clutching a
sheaf of papers. His angry expression faded when he recognized the visitors.
He
invited them in, then latched the door.
     Bursard's private office was a magnificent room, furnished entirely in
oak; its walls were paneled with the same rich wood. Bursard motioned his
visitors to comfortable chairs, then sat down behind his desk.
     "What is the trouble?" he inquired, noting the purplish tinge of
Wrightley's face. "You seem to have rushed here to reach me before my
broadcast."
     "It's about Clewiss," blurted Wrightley. "He received another threat
today; it came during the hearing. He was told to drop Kroot's case."
     Bursard's jaw dropped. His composure was gone. It was with difficulty
that
he managed to recover himself. In a hoarse tone, he remarked:
     "So that's why Clewiss fluked it! This is terrible! What can it mean?"
     "It means one thing," insisted Wrightley. "You've got to go easy in your
broadcast, until we learn more."
     Bursard smiled in relief.
     "I have done that already," he declared, passing his papers across the
table. "Read these, Mr. Mayor; and you, Mr. Cranston. You will see that I have
handled matters tactfully, blaming no one. My whole talk is based on the
peculiarities of patent law, covering the difficulties of deciding the true
status of inventions."
     Wrightley read the first page; handed it to The Shadow, who did the same
and laid the paper on Bursard's desk. The remaining pages went the rounds. As
The Shadow finished the last page, a gong sounded from the corner. It came
from
an odd-shaped, clocklike instrument that rested on a large recording
phonograph.
     "My alarm clock," remarked Bursard. "Set for half past eight. It tells me
when I must be ready."
     "We must start for the broadcasting room," said Wrightley, rising from
his
chair. "They must be waiting for you there."
     "No, no," returned Bursard, motioning for the mayor to remain. "I talk
from here. The hook-up is all ready. This room is soundproof. Remain here, but
please keep absolute silence. How about the speech. Does it suit you, Mr.
Mayor?"
     "Quite."


     THERE was a slight crackle from the corner of the room; then came the
voice of the radio announcer through a loudspeaker.
     Gesturing for silence, Bursard stepped to the corner near his special
clock gong and turned on a light beside an adjustable microphone. Holding his
papers, he waited until the announcement was ended; then he began his speech.
     Bursard's voice was a good one for the air. Its well modulated tones were
exactly the same as when The Shadow had heard them previously.
     Here, in the actual room from which Bursard broadcasted, The Shadow was
able for the first time to judge the man's full ability. Bursard had a way of
pausing between statements; and it added a definite emphasis to his talk. As
The Shadow watched him lay aside the papers, another reason for Bursard's
deliberation became apparent.
     It was obvious that Bursard had not timed this particular speech and was
therefore taking no chances on running short. When he was halfway through, he
stopped to calculate the papers that he had already covered. From then on, the
pauses were shorter and less apparent. Almost at the finish of his allotted
time, Bursard clipped his final statements and finished the broadcast in
effective manner.
     Off the air, Bursard smiled and sat down at his desk. He looked like a
man
who had finished an ordeal. That was not surprising, for he had hedged
considerably in his speech. Mayor Wrightley nodded approvingly.
     "Good work, Bursard," he said. "You handled that well. You described the
courtroom and the verdict; but you went easy on Clewiss. It was fine business,
commending justice; speaking highly of Judge Noy."
     Bursard shook his head.
     "It went against my grain," he declared. Then, with a pound on the desk,
"Why did we weaken, Wrightley? You and I had our chance to stop that stadium
contract. We let Clewiss and Radbourne override us."
     "We couldn't help it," protested Wrightley. "We were threatened, Bursard
-"
     "We've been over that before. It has only made matters worse. Wait a
moment, Wrightley" - Bursard's gaze narrowed - "have you heard from Radbourne
about this?"
      "Not a word," replied Wrightley, "but that is not odd. Radbourne does not
know that Clewiss received the threat. They cannot see each other, after what
happened in court today. It would look as though Radbourne bribed Clewiss."
      "It would be a good plan for you to see Radbourne," remarked Bursard.
"Some time tomorrow - or perhaps the next day. He ought to know what has
happened. By the way, does Clewiss still have that letter he found today?"
      "No. He showed it to me and destroyed it in my presence."
      "Then Radbourne will have to take your word for it that Clewiss received
the letter. Radbourne was the gainer by what happened today."
      "Maybe he won't be for long. Intimidation, Incorporated, may be after
him."


     MAYOR WRIGHTLEY made the statement glumly. It brought a look of alarm
from
Bursard. Before the speechmaker could make a statement in reply, there was a
ring from a telephone bell. Taking a long breath, Bursard picked up the
telephone.
     "Hello..." Bursard showed sudden recognition of the voice that he heard.
"Certainly, Judge Noy, I have time to talk to you... About my broadcast? You
heard it?... I see. Yes, I was at the courtroom..."
     Bursard paused, listening to the judge's voice. He became confused,
almost
apologetic.
     "Of course I shall be glad to call on you," he declared. "Tomorrow, for
dinner?... I am more than pleased, your honor..."
     Hanging up, Bursard mopped his forehead and turned to Wrightley and The
Shadow.
     "Judge Noy was listening in on the broadcast," he announced. "He didn't
like it. Said that I talked like a man who had something to say but didn't say
it. The judge declares that he has facts he intends to make public."
     The Shadow watched to see the effect upon Wrightley. The mayor showed
alarm at Bursard's words.
     "Do you think the judge knows about the letter?" queried the mayor. "Was
he watching when Clewiss received it?"
     "No closer than the rest of us," replied Bursard. "Neither Mr. Cranston
nor myself knew what had happened. Wait, though! I have it! Judge Noy received
a message just before Clewiss fluked."
     "It must have been a letter!" exclaimed Wrightley. "A threat from
Intimidation, Incorporated."
     "That's it," decided Bursard. "That's why the judge wants to see me. So I
can break the facts over the radio before he gives them out to the
newspapers."
     "You can't do that, Bursard. It will mean death for all of us! You know
the threat if we divulge a single fact."
     Bursard nodded.
     "I'm thinking of Judge Noy, too," he declared. "He must trust me;
otherwise, he wouldn't have called me. He's made a mistake, holding out that
letter. He doesn't know the dynamite that's in it. Leave it to me, Wrightley.
I'll talk to him at dinner, tomorrow night. He invited me to his penthouse.
I'll see that he's protected. Meanwhile, you see Clewiss and Radbourne, some
time tomorrow."


     BURSARD opened the door of the office. Several persons were outside.
Bursard greeted them; introduced them to the mayor and The Shadow.
Congratulations were given Bursard for his radio talk. These listeners seemed
pleased by it, even though Judge Noy had not been.
     For a short while, Bursard and Wrightley spent time shaking hands with
visitors. After the crowd was gone, Bursard looked about for The Shadow. Not
seeing him, he went back into the private office, then came back and
questioned
the secretary, who was standing beside the outermost door.
     "Where is Mr. Cranston?" demanded Bursard. "Did you see him go out?"
     "No, sir," replied the secretary. "He might have been with those people
who just left here; but I'm not sure -"
     "It's your business to notice people," interrupted Bursard. Then, spying
Wrightley close at hand, he asked:
     "What became of Mr. Cranston?"
     "He said something about returning to the hotel," replied the mayor. "I
think he had an appointment. I brought him here very abruptly, never thinking
to ask him if he intended to be busy."
     "That's all right then," decided Bursard. "He must have gone out with the
crowd. Well, Mr. Mayor" - Bursard stopped, noting the secretary close by -
"I'll call you tomorrow night, before the broadcast."
     Wrightley caught the significance of the remark. With a pompous bow, he
went out to the elevator and descended. He reached the street, entered his car
and rode away. Swinging the block, the big machine passed the front of the
darkened office building, made a couple of necessary turns, then rolled along
a
one-way street which happened to be on the other side of the same edifice.
     Mayor Wrightley had not noticed a side entrance on the far side of the
office building. He would have been puzzled if he had taken a backward look
from his big car. Scarcely had the automobile passed before a tall figure
stepped into view and watched the departing car. Mayor Wrightley, had he seen
the standing form, would have recognized Lamont Cranston.
     For some reason known only to himself, The Shadow had come to this
obscure, deserted spot. With Wrightley's car gone, the way was clear.
Strolling
along the street, The Shadow came to a lighted corner. He waited there until a
cab came along. He boarded the tax and rode to his hotel.
     Later, a soft laugh whispered through the darkness of The Shadow's room.
Its tone carried a strange significance that seemed to deal with Intimidation,
Incorporated. Tonight, The Shadow had begun a campaign that boded ill for the
supercrook. By tomorrow night The Shadow's plans should bring results.
     Yet, in his purposes, The Shadow was meeting a game with many angles. The
unforeseen might enter before he achieved his goal.


    CHAPTER IX

    TRANSFERRED FUNDS

     WHEN morning came, The Shadow had breakfast and remained in the lobby of
the Dorchester House. Quietly seated near the desk, he had the air of a person
who expects a telephone call. It was ten o'clock when a boy paged Mr.
Cranston.
Responding, The Shadow went to a telephone.
     The call was from Newell Radbourne. The financier was speaking from his
residence. His voice, noticeably shaky, expressed the urgent request that Mr.
Cranston would call on him at once.
     Soon, The Shadow arrived at Radbourne's. He was ushered into the
financier's study, where he found the gray-haired man at a desk. Radbourne had
risen late; he was still attired in a dressing gown. His hand was unsteady as
he passed a letter across the desk.
     It was the letter that The Shadow had mailed last night, signed with the
name "Intimidation, Incorporated." Eying it in Cranston's calm fashion, The
Shadow acted as though he had never seen the letter before. When he had
finished reading it, he placed it on the desk, and looked at Radbourne with
serious expression.
     "A new demand," quavered Radbourne. "This time, I am to pay two hundred
thousand dollars in cash; and you, Mr. Cranston, are to be the recipient. I am
to announce that I have bought the rights to the Oriental exhibit."
     "But I received that concession gratis!" objected The Shadow. "Why should
I take such a sum for it?"
     "You don't understand!" exclaimed Radbourne. "It is a pretext; a plot
like
those that went before. Yesterday, I saved two hundred thousand dollars, by
winning in court. Intimidation, Incorporated, knows it. He wants me to pass
that amount along, to save my life. The money will not be yours; you, too,
will
be threatened, later."
     The Shadow eyed the letter; then remarked:
     "I take it that you have not mentioned this to any of the other committee
members."
     "Read that line near the bottom," explained Radbourne, pointing. "It
states expressly that I am to speak to no one until I have completed my
transaction with you."
     With that, Radbourne arose, half tottered to a safe and opened it. He
brought out bundles of crisp bank notes, all in thousand-dollar denominations.
He passed the money to The Shadow.
     "I sent to the bank," declared Radbourne. "I had the money brought here.
Take it, Mr. Cranston. Relieve me of the danger that threatens me."


    RADBOURNE'S tone was a plea. The Shadow carefully separated the bills
into
thick bundles and stuffed them into various pockets. A look of immense relief
was reflected from Radbourne's ashen face. With trembling hand, the financier
picked up the letter, intending to toss it in the fireplace.
     "Wait!" The Shadow stopped Radbourne with a gesture. "You have already
violated one term. You should have destroyed the letter before I saw it."
     "But you already know about Intimidation, Incorporated."
     "Of course. Therefore, since I have seen the letter, there is no reason
why others should not see it also. Others such as Bursard, Wrightley and
Clewiss."
     Radbourne nodded his agreement. Folding the letter, he carefully placed
it
in the desk drawer, which he locked. Impressed by The Shadow's confident tone,
Radbourne looked for more advice. He asked:
     "When shall I call the others?"
     "Not for a while," decided The Shadow. "You had better play safe until
you
have done all that the letter says. It mentions that you are to notify the
newspapers regarding your purchase of my concession. I should say that noon
would be about the right time to do that."
     Radbourne nodded his agreement.
     "Then wait until you hear from Mayor Wrightley," resumed The Shadow. "He
will probably call you some time today. Show him the letter. Let him inform
Bursard about it."
     "Why should I hear from Mayor Wrightley?"
     "Because he has something to tell you about a letter that Elwood Clewiss
received yesterday in the courtroom."
     Radbourne dropped back as if shot. His lips opened and closed, then spoke
the tremolo question:
     "Clewiss - received a - a letter?"
     "Yes," replied The Shadow. "One from Intimidation, Incorporated, telling
him to throw the case your way."
     A sudden indignation brought Radbourne upward. Forgetting his fear, the
financier spoke in candid tone.
     "I didn't want that verdict," he declared. "Kroot had some right to those
patents. I wanted him to fight the case through, simply because it would be
bad
policy to settle with every crazy inventor who makes a claim. I wasn't sure
that
Kroot was right until the case was well developed.
     "When I knew Kroot had a just claim, I was willing to lose. I had no
antagonism toward Clewiss because he became Kroot's lawyer. Do you know what I
intend to do?" Radbourne's tone was one of real sincerity. "I am going to make
a voluntary settlement with Kroot; talk things over with him and give him what
he thinks is right. It won't be two hundred thousand dollars, though. He knows
that claim was too high."
     The Shadow began to draw the currency from his pockets. Radbourne guessed
his purpose. The Shadow intended to return the money, so that the financier
could apply it toward his settlement with the inventor.
     Excitedly, Radbourne came to his feet; gestured for The Shadow to put the
money away.
     "No, Mr. Cranston!" he exclaimed. "You must keep the money. I must bear
the loss. The threat is real. Keep the money; sign this transfer of your
concessions." Radbourne displayed a briefly typewritten sheet of paper. "I
must
go through with the terms. I am afraid to fight Intimidation, Incorporated. My
only hope is that he - or they - will not make further demands upon me."
     The Shadow pocketed the bulky bundles. Without a word, he signed the
transfer paper. Radbourne's expression showed that he had been relieved of a
great burden. The Shadow shook hands and left.


     WHEN he reached the hotel room, The Shadow opened his portable typewriter
and wrote himself a note, addressed in simple, direct style to Lamont
Cranston.
The note specified that he should take the plane that left Dorchester at noon,
without the two hundred thousand dollars that he had received from Newell
Radbourne.
     The instructions added that he was to leave the money in a suitcase in
the
hotel room, with his other luggage; therefore, he was not to check out of the
Dorchester House. He was to leave the door unlocked, so that whoever wished
could enter.
     The letter threatened death if instructions were not followed. It added
that the recipient was to destroy the note. When he had finished the letter,
The Shadow signed it in capitals with the name "INTIMIDATION INCORPORATED."
     The Shadow then proceeded to disobey his own instructions. He had three
bags. In one of them, he packed his black garments and his make-up kit, along
with automatics, thus leaving no trace of his actual identity; for he was
taking that bag with him. There was space in it for the money that he had
received from Radbourne.
     With pockets no longer bulging, The Shadow went out, carrying the one bag
and the portable typewriter. He left the door unlocked; stopped at the hotel
desk and placed his key there, remarking that he was going on a short trip,
but
would return. The clerk accepted The Shadow's statement that there was luggage
in the room.
     It was approaching noon. The Shadow took a cab to the airport. On the
way,
he scrawled a brief note on hotel stationery; his writing showed the peculiar
jolts that come when one attempts to write while riding in an automobile.
     He put the scrawled note in an envelope; added the letter that he had
typed to himself from Intimidation, Incorporated. Sealing the envelope, he
thrust it through the cab window to the taxi driver, along with a ten-dollar
bill.
      "Take this to the city hall," ordered The Shadow, in a breathless tone.
"Make sure that it gets to Mayor Wrightley. Keep the ten dollars; but make
sure
that the note gets there."
      The driver gave a pleased grin. He pulled into the airport, pocketing
both
the money and the envelope. The Shadow alighted; paid his fare with a large
tip,
at the same time giving the taxi man a warning look. The fellow gave a short
nod. He understood.


     IT was two o'clock when Mayor Wrightley entered his office to find a
waiting cab driver. The mayor had gone out to lunch early; he had not been
there when the cabby arrived. He was surprised to find a cab driver who
insisted upon seeing him in private. Nevertheless, he conducted the cabby into
his office; there the fellow handed him the note.
     "A guy give it to me," he explained. "A solemn-looking bloke that rode
from the Dorchester House out to the airport. Says I was to hand it to you,
and
nobody else, your honor."
     Wrightley opened the note. He started to read The Shadow's scrawl. The
hasty penciled lines were explicit.
     "Read the enclosed letter," The Shadow had written. "Keep it safe or
destroy it. I am taking desperate chances in sending it to you. I have
complied
with its instructions. Cranston."
     Wrightley did not unfold the typed letter. He had guessed its
significance. Instead, he pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed
it to the cabby, who hesitated about taking the money. Wrightley insisted that
he keep it and hustled him from the office with the reminder that he was to
say
nothing of the message that he had brought.
     Opening the typed letter, the mayor read the instructions that bore the
signature of Intimidation, Incorporated. He reached for the telephone; was
interrupted by a knock on the door. Hugh Bursard was announced.
     The head of MXDO was highly excited when he entered; more so, in fact,
than Mayor Wrightley. As soon as the door was closed, Bursard flourished an
evening newspaper. Wrightley saw a headline stating that Newell Radbourne had
purchased the Oriental exhibit of the State exposition at a price of two
hundred thousand dollars.
     "I went to Radbourne's when I read this," said Bursard. "I found out why
he made the deal. He received a letter this morning from Intimidation,
Incorporated. Here's the letter. Radbourne gave it to me."
     "Then read this one," puffed Mayor Wrightley. "Cranston sent it from the
airport, by a taxi driver."
     The two compared the letters. Bursard was the first to form a conclusion.
     "It's plain enough," he said, ruefully. "The crook went after the cash
that Radbourne saved. Made him cough it over to Cranston. Radbourne holds the
receipt. He didn't waste much time with Cranston; simply told him to leave the
money and clear town."
     "Maybe the money is still there," asserted Wrightley, in a grim tone. "I
shall send a couple of detectives over there to find out. I am afraid, though,
that we are too late."
     "If Cranston could only have telephoned you -"
     "Probably he did not dare. He took a long enough chance depending on the
taxi driver."
     WRIGHTLEY made the call ordering two detectives to go to the Dorchester
House and make a thorough search of Cranston's room, leaving it as they found
it unless they came across a bag of money. In that case, they were to call the
mayor's office at once.
     That done, Wrightley called Elwood Clewiss and asked the lawyer to come
to
his office. Bursard departed for MXDO, deciding that it would be best for
Wrightley to talk to Clewiss alone.
     When Clewiss arrived, the mayor showed him the letters. Clewiss took them
calmly, as though they were a natural sequence to yesterday's occurrence in
the
courtroom. While Clewiss was still with Wrightley, a call came from the
detective stating that they had found nothing but ordinary luggage in
Cranston's room.
     After Clewiss left, Wrightley called Bursard, then Radbourne, to give
them
the details that they had not already received. All four men expressed
absolute
agreement with one another, in that Intimidation, Incorporated, was again
active. All were of the opinion that they must sit tight until after Hugh
Bursard had talked with judge Hancock Noy.


     EVENTS had shaped precisely as The Shadow planned them. The transfer of
the funds had all the earmarks of a deal swung by Intimidation, Incorporated,
even to the newspaper account of Radbourne's concession purchase, which bore
obvious significance to any one who knew the ways of Intimidation,
Incorporated.
     Yet, of the four men who had agreed about the matter, there was one who
had not been deceived by The Shadow's ruse. That one man, though he had
smoothly covered his real feelings, was fuming over the defeat that he had
encountered. That man was the supercrook who posed as Intimidation,
Incorporated.
     Though confident that his identity had not been learned, the master
criminal knew that he could expect stiff opposition in the future. For the
first time, someone had found a way to crimp the game. The Shadow, by using
the
supercrook's own method, had moved in ahead. He had gained and safely carried
away the funds that Intimidation, Incorporated, had expected to gain by
threat.
     The Shadow had changed the game of strength into one of weakness. His
challenge was one that could not be overlooked. More than that, a clash was
imminent. There was a reason why The Shadow would have to return to Dorchester
by nightfall.
     That reason concerned Judge Hancock Noy. The jurist had declared his
intention to expose the methods of Intimidation, Incorporated. The word had
gone around the circle. The hidden crook knew it. Danger would threaten Judge
Noy.
     Only The Shadow could nullify that menace.


     THE SHADOW returned that evening, at six o'clock, to Dorchester by plane.
He went to his room - 312 - in the Dorchester House. And it was there Nobby
Kilgan trailed him.
     Nobby had been in conference that afternoon with his lieutenants. They
had
brought him word that the mayor had detectives spotting the Dorchester House.
This news had come from a stoolie. It was then that Nobby put two and two
together and came to the conclusion that Link Delvo was The Shadow.
      Knowing from Brad and Skeet that The Shadow had been at Lenning's when
death occurred and that Link Delvo had been near by when Sack Balban died,
Nobby was certain the murderer was The Shadow. And he was doubly sure, after
remembering Lamont Cranston had been the man to sell Radbourne the concession.
This made Nobby think that the mayor, in sending detectives to the hotel, was
sure Cranston was the head of Intimidation, Incorporated.
      Nobby showed no hesitation. He ordered Brad and Skeet to the Dorchester
House, to check up on Cranston and find out for certain if he was The Shadow.
      The Shadow was just changing to cloak and slouch hat when he saw,
reflected in the mirror of his make-up case, the face of Skeet looking over
the
transom. Then it disappeared. Conversation was heard in low tones outside the
door. Then silence.
      When The Shadow jerked open the door, Brad fell in. It took but little
work on The Shadow's part to overcome him, bind him and carry him to a linen
closet off a little-used hallway.
      Slinking down a back staircase, The Shadow overheard Skeet in a phone
booth, reporting to Nobby. Events happened more swiftly to Skeet than to Brad
-
and when The Shadow was finished, Skeet was trussed up in the phone booth,
lying
on the floor where he couldn't be seen. An "Out of Order" sign hung on the
door
assured that no one would enter.
      The Shadow disappeared into the night.
      When Nobby Kilgan appeared at the Dorchester House, thirty minutes later,
in answer to Skeet's phone call, he could find no signs of his two henchmen.


     CHAPTER X

     ATOP THE PENTHOUSE

     THOUGH Nobby Kilgan was out to locate The Shadow, The Shadow had dropped
all thought of Nobby Kilgan. In his encounters with Brad and Skeet, The Shadow
had sized the situation perfectly.
     The Shadow knew that Nobby had luckily found a connection between Link
Delvo and Lamont Cranston, and had, therefore, tried to enter as an individual
factor. There was no connection between Nobby and Intimidation, Incorporated.
The Shadow was out to defeat a master crook; he had no time to bother with a
puny crook like Nobby, who was a big-shot only by his own boast.
     By bagging Brad and Skeet, The Shadow had effectively disposed of Nobby's
trailers. If someone released them, they would be unable to tell Nobby
anything
of importance. If Brad and Skeet were not released, The Shadow could attend to
them later.
     At the present time, precisely eight o'clock, The Shadow was on the roof
of an apartment house near the center of Dorchester. He had reached this goal
without difficulty, for the apartment house was next door to an unfinished
office building that stood a little more than one story higher.
     Only a small alleyway separated the two structures. Any one bold enough
could bridge the gap by a running leap from the higher building. The logical
jump, however, was not to the roof of the apartment house, but to that of a
penthouse that topped it. The garden roof of the penthouse was only a few feet
below the level of the broad cornice that jutted from the roof of the
neighboring office building.
     Coming by that route, The Shadow had found a hinged trapdoor in the
penthouse roof. Instead of using it, he had dropped from the penthouse wall to
the roof of the apartment house.
     Here, he skirted the little building along a narrow ledge, high above the
ground. Two sides of the penthouse hovered over this man-made precipice. One
was the rear wall, toward the alley; the other, a long side wall above the
street.
     The Shadow found little difficulty navigating the ledge. It was about
three feet broad and ornamented with blocky stones set at twelve-foot
intervals. These ornamental pieces, carved to resemble open-mouthed lions,
were
large enough to be admired from the street below. Each lion's mouth offered a
grip; so did the bulging head above it.
     Well along the side wall, The Shadow had stopped by an open window. There
he was listening to a discussion held by two men, who were puffing at thin
cigars. One was Judge Hancock Noy, owner of the penthouse; the other, Hugh
Bursard, the jurist's dinner guest.


     "I HAVE summed the matter, Bursard," expressed Judge Noy, in a decisive
tone. "The fact is, I was threatened by an anonymous personage who styles
himself Intimidation, Incorporated; and I have kept the letter that proves
it."
     "A serious situation, your honor," agreed Bursard. "One that must
certainly be investigated. What about the messenger who brought the letter?
Have you traced him?"
     "Yes. But he was simply a paid messenger, who picked up an envelope
labeled for delivery to me. Someone called the telegraph office to ask if the
message had been sent. They found it under some papers. No one can inform us
how or when it was placed on the counter."
     Bursard crinkled papers that he held in his hand. His high forehead
showed
a frown.
     "You are asking a great deal, your honor," he said, "when you insist that
I include these statements in tonight's broadcast. I should like more time to
think it over."
     "Do as you please," returned judge. Noy. "However, whether or not you
broadcast my statements, I intend to give them to the press later. I shall
merely wait until after you have finished on the air. If you state the facts,
the reporters will come to you. If you prefer not to broadcast the news, I
shall call the newspapers and tell them to send representatives here.
     "I am giving you an opportunity, Bursard. Thousands of listeners are
guided by your opinions on civic matters. Your words will carry weight and
will
establish your reputation. Of course" - the judge smiled cannily - "you may
incur the enmity of Intimidation, Incorporated. But if I were in your place, I
would consider it worth the risk."
     Bursard chewed his lips as he pocketed the written notes. He glanced at
his watch, noted that it was after eight o'clock.
     "Very well, your honor," he declared. "I shall think deeply on this
matter
while I am on my way to MXDO. You will be listening in when I broadcast. You
will know how I have decided when you hear me. Only -"
     Bursard paused, his face was troubled. Judge Noy's look was one of query.
     "I am thinking of your situation, Judge Noy," asserted Bursard, frankly.
"After all, you followed the mandates of the letter by deciding the case
against Kroot."
     "I had no other course," declared Noy. "If Clewiss had argued the case
properly, the verdict would have been in his favor. The whole blame lies with
Clewiss."


     JUDGE NOY paused; he leaned forward in his chair and added, in
confidential tone:
      "It is possible that Clewiss also received a threat. That would explain
the situation. But Clewiss denied receipt of a letter. I called him this
afternoon and questioned him on that point. I told him that I intended to
speak
to you."
      "What was his reaction?" asked Bursard, uneasily. "Did he seem
concerned?"
      "Yes, even though I did not give him the full details. He intimated that
if I had received a threat, he should beware of it. I have an idea that
Clewiss
is hiding something."
      Bursard looked troubled as he walked toward the door. Following him,
Judge
Noy added:
      "I called Radbourne, also, on the chance that he knew something of the
matter. I told him very little; simply that he was not to consider the patent
case as closed. I stated that if Kroot asked for an appeal, I would grant it."
      Bursard shook his head. His action indicated that he considered Judge
Noy's methods to be unwise.
      "I must hurry to the radio station," said Bursard. "I cannot promise to
broadcast all this. I admire your stand; but I do not care to be responsible
for anything that may happen to you."
      "I am protected," declared the judge, with a smile. "I called Mayor
Wrightley, to tell him that I felt insecure. He sent two detectives here."
      "But they are not on duty -"
      "Yes, they are." Noy's smile broadened. "One is posing as the doorman of
this apartment building. The other is acting as operator of the only elevator
that is running. If any intruder attempts to come up here, they will halt
him."


      NOY went out to the elevator with Bursard. The Shadow waited; it was
several minutes before the judge returned.
      Meanwhile, a taxicab sped away along the street below, carrying Bursard
in
the direction of the building where MXDO was located. It was not far to the
radio station; The Shadow estimated that Bursard could make the trip in about
five minutes. It was lucky that his trip was a short one, for the clock on
Judge Noy's mantel showed twenty minutes after eight. In ten minutes, Bursard
would be on the air.
      Judge Noy seemed quite at ease when he returned to his sitting room. He
had evidently contacted the detective who served as elevator operator. To make
sure that both headquarters men were on the job, he picked up a telephone and
asked for the doorman. The Shadow heard the judge ask if all was well. His
smile showed that he had received an affirmative reply.
      It was twenty-five minutes after eight. Judge Noy turned on the radio; he
twisted the dial to await the broadcast from MXDO.
      The Shadow waited no longer. Edging along the wall, he raised himself
upon
one of the lion's heads and managed a stretch to the edge of the penthouse
roof.
A few moments later, he swung atop the penthouse and lay rested by a small
hedge
that fringed the gardenlike summit.
      The roof was arranged like an Italian garden, in artificial pathways that
led beneath sculptured arches. There were benches; also a little fountain that
tinkled softly as the water dripped from its bowled center. Just past an
archway were a pair of railings; between them, the flat door that afforded
entrance to the interior of the penthouse. Keeping to stretches of darkness,
The Shadow approached the trapdoor.
     He found it fastened from the inside, but loose enough to be jimmied
without difficulty. Here was the weakness to Judge Noy's stronghold; one that
would certainly be known to any one who was at all acquainted with the
penthouse.
     From the way that Noy had spoken, The Shadow was convinced that
Wrightley,
Clewiss and Radbourne had probably paid visits here in the past. They, as much
as Bursard, could know that the penthouse might be reached from above.
     The word had gone around the circle of four. All knew that Judge Noy
expected Bursard to expose Intimidation, Incorporated, over the radio. Among
themselves, they were certain that Bursard would not do so; but they also knew
that Judge Noy would notify the press if Bursard failed him.
     Four men - all impelled by a desire for silence. Three, because they
feared; a trio that would sit by helplessly despite their desperation. But the
fourth, who also wanted silence, was inspired by a different reason.
     He was Intimidation, Incorporated; a master crook who knew the facts, who
would not hesitate to deliver death where bluff failed. That powerful criminal
had but one measure upon which he could rely. That was to silence Judge Noy
forever, before nine o'clock tonight. To reach the judge, the supercrook could
choose but one route. He would have to pass through this portal on the roof,
over which The Shadow stood guard!


     HALF past eight. A silent sentinel beneath the blackness of the archway,
The Shadow kept watch upon the roof of the building opposite. He knew that the
master crook would come from there, to leap the gap between the office
building
and the apartment house.
     As he watched, The Shadow saw a motion against the dull glow furnished by
the lights of Dorchester. He made out the shape of a crawling figure, creeping
toward the cornice atop the office building.
     The master crook had arrived. Though too huddled to be identified, he
would soon be forced to reveal his full stature when he prepared to spring
from
one roof to the other. A task that required nerve more than agility, for the
space was less than ten feet wide. Nevertheless, the master crook was taking
no
chances.
     As The Shadow maintained his vigil, he saw the end of a ladder poke from
the cornice of the office building. Once lowered, the ladder would serve as a
bridge. The time for the enemy's approach was near.
     The Shadow drew back from the darkened space above the trapdoor. He
placed
himself behind the whitened pillar of the archway.
     In taking his new position, The Shadow kept entirely away from the view
of
the man on the other roof. His black form was fully outlined against the
marble
pillar; but it could only be seen from the front of the penthouse, not from
the
rear. There was no need, apparently, for The Shadow to guard against
observation
from the front. He knew that the man who posed as Intimidation, Incorporated,
was a lone wolf of crime, who would trust no subordinates.
     The figure was rising on the roof. A moment more, The Shadow would see
the
face of his insidious foeman. Despite the tenseness of his vigil, The Shadow
was
alert to all about him. It was fortunate that he possessed the faculty of
detecting the slightest sound that might occur close by.
     For, in this important instant, there cane a slight stir from a bench
upon
the penthouse roof. The sound was on the front side of the pillar; from a spot
where The Shadow could be observed. The low noise reached The Shadow's ears.
He
wheeled, without stepping away from the pillar.


     OUT from behind the bench had sprung a new attacker; a vicious foeman who
displayed a leveled revolver. Above the glimmering gun, The Shadow saw a
glowering face thrust forward from hunched shoulders. Upon that leering
countenance was a glare of triumph, plain in the glow of the city's fights.
     The Shadow, by his shift to the pillar, had placed himself in full view
of
a lurking foeman; one whose arrival he had not expected. A third hand had
entered the game at the very, moment when The Shadow had needed absolute
secrecy.
     The rising attacker was one whose ability The Shadow had discounted; a
man
whom he believed to be far from the trail. This foeman had not seen the other
adversary upon the farther roof. He had simply spied The Shadow and had risen
to deliver quick attack.
     The Shadow recognized the new combatant's face; knew at once how
dangerous
the man could be. His own gun swinging into play, The Shadow threw aside all
caution as he launched out to stop the swift attack.
     The man who had come to spoil The Shadow's trap was Nobby Kilgan. The
big-shot of Dorchester had found the black-clad foe whose career he was
determined to end.


     CHAPTER XI

     DEATH'S TRIANGLE

      NOBBY'S quick thrust was made with definite purpose. He wanted to drill
The Shadow, point-blank, at the closest possible range. Nobby had heard much
talk of this formidable foeman; how The Shadow had seemingly dodged bullets
that came in his direction. Nobby did not intend to give The Shadow a chance.
      He was coming onward when The Shadow wheeled, ready to cut loose with his
gun. It seemed impossible for The Shadow to escape the finish that Nobby had
designed for him. The cloaked fighter could neither dodge nor fire before
Nobby
came upon him. Yet; in one split-second, The Shadow found a way to meet the
thrust.
      While he wheeled, he drove. Lashing from the pillar, he came like a
living
thunderbolt straight for Nobby's gun. Before the crook could halt his own
swift
impetus, The Shadow met him. A slashing upward stroke of an automatic found
Nobby's gun wrist; the jolt paralyzed the crook's trigger finger at the very
instant when it tried to tug.
      The swift blow almost disarmed Nobby. At that moment, The Shadow had
rendered his enemy helpless. The fact that Nobby remained in the fray was due
to another move The Shadow made. Not sure that his clipping blow would do the
damage that it did, The Shadow twisted sidewise as he made the stroke, falling
away in case Nobby managed to fire.
      The side shift gave Nobby a lucky opportunity. Still plunging forward,
Nobby made a wild grab for The Shadow's gun arm and nabbed it. Snarling as he
grappled, Nobby tried to follow up his good fortune. Regaining his grip on his
revolver, he slashed a hard blow for The Shadow's head.
     A free hand shot upward, stopped Nobby's stroke with the action of a trip
hammer. Each fighter had an even grip but The Shadow had lost ground. He was
reeling backward, off balance. Fighting to regain his footing, he was driven
through the archway straight for the rear of the penthouse roof.


     THEY were past the pillars when The Shadow rallied. Clutching Nobby in a
fighting grip, he twisted the crook about, until Nobby's back was toward the
rear of the roof. The move was quick strategy on The Shadow's part. Across
Nobby's shoulder he could see the other roof, where a crouching figure had
paused at the first sounds of the fray.
     It was plain that the master crook - he who called himself Intimidation,
Incorporated - had recognized both fighters.
     The intimidator knew that The Shadow had been lying in wait for him. He
must have pictured how Nobby had luckily managed to learn that The Shadow had
come to the neighborhood of Judge Noy's penthouse; how Nobby had come up
through the office building, leaped the gap, and kept his own watch for The
Shadow.
     His ladder withdrawn, the supercrook produced a revolver and held it
leveled as he crouched. However The Shadow fared with Nobby Kilgan, the man on
the far roof was ready to become master of the fray. He was waiting until one
fighter downed the other; then he could promptly dispose of the victor.
     The Shadow saw the set-up. He knew his own dilemma. To dispose of Nobby
would be a simple task; for The Shadow had gained the upper hand. It would
require a strong effort, however, and when the finish came, The Shadow would
be
in no position to deal with the waiting intimidator. He could see the master
crook's gun following every move of the struggle.
     Only while he held Nobby helpless, between himself and the supercrook,
could The Shadow count on safety. He knew that the man on the other roof
wanted
to avoid too much gunfire. It would attract attention down on the street
below.
The master crook was willing to use a single shot to finish The Shadow; but he
did not care to waste bullets riddling Nobby, in order to clear the way.
     The intimidator had a mission. He intended to murder judge Hancock Noy.
If
he managed one well-placed shot, he could continue down to the penthouse. If a
barrage was necessary, he would have to give up his attempt.


      NOBBY KILGAN had sensed that The Shadow had some reason in keeping him
toward the rear roof. Struggling viciously, Nobby tried to twist aside. To
turn
him about, The Shadow was forced to make a side shift.
      It brought them toward the side roof of the penthouse. Nobby struggled
again; once more, The Shadow managed to keep him in position by shoving to the
side.
      As they tightened, almost by the fringing hedge, a new thought flashed to
The Shadow. There was a way to end this struggle; a method that would
completely balk the intimidator's plan of murder. It was a daring one; a risk
that offered bad odds, yet it was better than existing circumstances.
      All the while he struggled with Nobby, The Shadow knew that one false
move
would bring doom. If Nobby succeeded in one chance shift, the murderer on the
other roof would risk a shot to drop The Shadow.
      Nobby was getting tougher; fighting The Shadow on equal terms had given
him confidence. They were closer to the roof edge; there was less chance for
The Shadow to keep Nobby in position. Those factors figured in The Shadow's
decision to take a bold course.
      The Shadow's automatic was tilted upward because of Nobby's grip. The
Shadow tugged the trigger, blasted a shot into the air. He followed with a
second shot; a few moments later, he delivered a third.
      The gunshots brought a grin from Nobby. He thought that The Shadow was
desperate. Nobby fought harder; he and The Shadow pressed deep into the low
hedge. They reeled along the edge of the side roof. Looking downward, The
Shadow could see one of the stone lions that gaped from the ledge a floor
below.
      He could see commotion in the street. The first two shots had made
pedestrians halt. The third had brought a real alarm. The Shadow fired again.
The fourth blast caused tiny figures to scurry back and forth. People knew
that
there was trouble high up on the apartment house.
      Looking past Nobby, The Shadow saw a figure rising on the office building
roof. A hand was shoving forward with its gun. The master crook had waited too
long; the alarm had been given. It was too late for him to proceed with the
murder of Judge Noy. But before he departed, he intended to accomplish a task
that he had delayed.
      By a barrage of his own, the intimidator could finish both The Shadow and
Nobby Kilgan. They would be good folk for the police to find on the roof of
Judge Noy's penthouse.
      As the master crook aimed, The Shadow gave a sudden surge. He shoved
Nobby
backward; twisted his gun hand free from the fellow's grasp. Dropping away, he
let Nobby loose; started a quick aim with his automatic.
      Nobby surged wildly forward; The Shadow faded sideward. His foot went
past
the ledge; with a wide, frantic dive, The Shadow went over the penthouse roof,
bound on a headlong plunge toward the street, more than a hundred feet below.


     NOBBY KILGAN stood riveted. A snarled laugh came from his wide-spread
lips. The unexpected triumph had come so suddenly that Nobby could hardly
realize it.
     At last, Nobby came to motion. Gripping his revolver, he approached the
edge of the roof. He peered over, chuckling in anticipation of the sight that
he expected to see, far below.
     The glow showed a sudden scowl that came over Nobby's face. With an oath,
he lowered his gun, prepared to shove it downward. His action looked like a
mere attempt at bravado, as though he wanted to cut loose with useless shots
to
wreak his spite on a dead figure far beneath. Nobby's move did not impress the
crouching man who watched from the roof of the office building.
     The intimidator pressed the trigger of his revolver, began a fire before
Nobby could make another move. The master crook had no need for further
caution. With his first shot, Nobby slumped; but the intimidator did not halt.
He pumped bullet after bullet into Nobby's sagging body. His revolver emptied,
he wiped the handle and hurled the weapon to the penthouse roof.
     That done, the supercrook stood upright, shoved the ladder over the roof
edge and let it crash down into the space between the building. Turning
abruptly, he made a hasty departure into the interior of the empty office
building.


     SPRAWLED on the edge of the penthouse roof, Nobby Kilgan had ceased to
writhe. His dead hands were clutching clumps of the mashed hedge. His ugly
face
was over the cornice; his sightless eyes were bulging as they stared vacantly
below.
      Eyes, looking upward, saw Nobby's dead gaze.
      The Shadow was lying upon the cornice that skirted the outer wall of the
penthouse. Half over the edge, his position was precarious. Jolted by his
fall,
he seemed ready to roll outward and plunge to the street. His arms stayed him.
They had gained a secure grip.
      The Shadow's left arm was over the head of a stone lion; his fingers
clutched its carved mane. His right hand was hanging hard to the lower jaw of
a
gaping granite mouth. All danger was ended for The Shadow. He had survived two
ordeals.
      The first was the drop itself. The Shadow had plunged straight for the
ledge, trusting that he could gain a grip before his body rolled across the
edge. He had calculated well. His left arm had managed a hold; he had worked
his right hand into position while he clung to his precarious perch.
      The second danger had come from above. Looking upward, The Shadow had
seen
Nobby Kilgan look over the edge of the roof. Badly shaken, barely able to keep
his position, The Shadow had been unable to gain a gun. One of his automatics
had scaled to the street, the other was wedged beneath his clinging left arm.
      Nobby had spied The Shadow. He had seen the black-cloaked fighter's
helpless position. That was why Nobby had begun his deliberate aim. He had
been
astounded, at first, to see The Shadow still alive; but Nobby had not allowed
his surprise to stay him long.
      Unfortunately for Nobby, the crook on the other roof had not gained the
same view that Nobby had obtained.
      The Shadow, watching, had waited, hoping for the result that he believed
was due. The expected shots had been delivered. A master crook had disposed of
Nobby Kilgan. Looking upward, The Shadow had witnessed Nobby's death throes.
At
present, he was viewing stilled lips that would never tell what bulging eyes
had
seen.
      Slowly, The Shadow pulled himself up beside the stone lion. He swayed
dizzily; tightened his hold until the spell passed. With limping crawl, The
Shadow managed to shift along the ledge until he reached the next ornamental
stone.
      There, he paused. Outside the opened window of Judge Noy's sitting room,
he rested, looking inward. That window offered the one path that The Shadow
could follow. Crippled by his fall, he could take no further chances.
      All that The Shadow waited was the proper time for the move that
circumstances had forced upon him.


    CHAPTER XII

    THE SHADOW'S ALLY

     THE penthouse room was vacant when The Shadow viewed it. The Shadow's
barrage had done more than spread alarm to the street. Judge Noy had heard the
gunfire that had broken loose almost above his sitting-room window. He had
gone
to summon the elevator.
     The clock on the mantel showed quarter of nine. The radio was turned on.
but not overloudly. From it, The Shadow could hear the tones of Hugh Bursard,
halfway through his evening's talk. Having no alternative, The Shadow calmly
listened to what Bursard had to say.
     The speech was coming smoothly, without pause, but Bursard's words
contained no reference to the subject that he had discussed with Judge Noy.
That did not surprise The Shadow. He had expected Bursard to sidestep any
reference to Intimidation, Incorporated. Bursard had promised to do so when he
had talked with Mayor Wrightley; and he had not committed himself when he
spoke
with Judge Noy.
      Nevertheless, The Shadow found Bursard's speech quite interesting. He
pressed close to the window as he listened. Bursard's talk was merely one of
civic betterment; stock stuff of the sort that he had broadcasted before. It
was odd that The Shadow should listen so intently to the steady spiel.
      The Shadow drew back from the window as Judge Noy arrived in the room.
The
jurist was accompanied by the two detectives. One, the disguised elevator
operator, looked the part of an apartment house employee, but the other
appeared clumsy in his doorman's uniform.
      "The shots came from the garden," explained Judge Noy, opening a door
that
led to a flight of stairs. "You had better inspect the roof at once."
      The detectives flourished leveled revolvers as they ascended. The judge
watched them, then remembered the radio. Calmly, he sat down in the corner and
began to listen anew to Bursard's speech. The Shadow could see the judge's
face
grow glum. Noy was not pleased by Bursard's dodging of the issue.
      There were sounds from the roof. The detectives had found Nobby's body.
One of them must have gone to report to Judge Noy, for a shout soon sounded
from the stairs.
      "There's a body up here, your honor! We know the fellow! He's Nobby
Kilgan, the racketeer!"
      Judge Noy smiled as he came to the bottom of the stairs.
      "I am not surprised," he called back, dryly. "I thought someone had been
killed. I am glad to learn who it is."
      "Shall we bring the body down?"
      "Handle it as you wish. It is a police case."


      THE SHADOW shifted by the window. The inevitable had arrived. The
headquarters men might be dumb, but they would certainly follow the hint that
Nobby's body gave. That glaring face, turned downward, would call for a look
over the parapet. The Shadow knew that his black cloak would be visible
against
the whiteness of the ledge.
      Judge Noy had returned to the radio; his gaze was away from the window.
The Shadow had the chance he wanted - a clear path to the elevator. He edged
in
past the sill, began a noiseless glide toward the door. Traveling half the
distance; his pace retarded; slowly, he began to sag.
      With an unobstructed path ahead of him, The Shadow was failing. The jolt
that he had taken in his fall was having its aftereffect. The Shadow gripped
the back of a chair to steady himself. The casters slipped on the polished
floor.
      As the chair scraped, The Shadow barely managed to hold his balance.
Judge
Noy heard the sound, sprang about from the radio.
      The jurist's eyes showed instant alarm. He was about to raise a shout;
then realized that he was too far from the stairs. Reaching in his pocket, the
judge fumbled and nervously produced a .22 revolver. He aimed the weapon
toward
The Shadow, but his finger could not find the trigger in its hurry.
      The Shadow had steadied. With a painful effort, he stepped from the
chair,
managed two long strides that brought him face to face with Noy. Before the
judge could draw away, The Shadow's hand came forward, closed in a fist upon
the fingers that held the revolver. Judge Noy found himself staring into a
pair
of burning eyes.
     A whispered voice spoke; its tone was clear despite the talk that was
still coming from the radio. The grip of The Shadow's hands, the words that
came from his lips, caused a flash of understanding from Judge Noy's eyes.
     Keen in analysis, long experienced in dealing with men, the judge
recognized at once that The Shadow was a friend. Moreover, he seemed to
understand that this stranger from the darkness could answer certain riddles
that perplexed him. The judge nodded; as The Shadow's hand withdrew, Noy
pocketed the revolver.
     There were footsteps from the stairs. The detectives were lugging Nobby's
body downward. Noy caught the flash of The Shadow's eyes. He pointed toward a
side door of the room.
     "In there," said the judge in a low tone. "We can talk afterward."


     THE SHADOW moved unsteadily toward the side room. Noy came over quickly,
to help him through the doorway. The Shadow sank into a chair. Judge Noy
stepped back into the sitting room, half closing the door behind him. He
arrived just as the detectives appeared. Chin in hand, Judge Noy surveyed the
bullet-riddled body of Nobby Kilgan.
     "Take it to the morgue," he ordered, loud enough for the detective to
hear
him above the radio. "Then report the matter to headquarters."
     The detectives hesitated. Their job was to protect Judge Noy. The jurist
settled the matter for them.
     "You were sent here to follow my instructions," he reminded. "Those were
the specific orders that Mayor Wrightley gave you."
     The detectives carried the body to the elevator. The judge waited until
the door had clanged, then went to the side room and motioned to The Shadow.
     Rising more steadily than before, The Shadow came out into the sitting
room. Judge Noy glanced at the clock. It showed five minutes of nine. With a
grimace, he turned off the radio.
     "I have heard enough from Bursard," he remarked. "His talk tonight is
froth." With that, the judge turned to The Shadow, and questioned: "Who are
you? What brought you here?"
     "Matters important to you," returned The Shadow, "since they concern
Intimidation, Incorporated."
     "I expected this," declared Judge Noy, with a meditative nod. "Although
my
life was threatened, I determined to defy the enemy who sought to intimidate
me.
I believed that such a policy would clear matters. When I heard, a short while
ago, that this dangerous fellow, Kilgan, had been slain on my very roof, I
realized that I had gained unknown protection. That was why I reasoned that it
was best to trust you."
     "You have formed two wrong conclusions," stated The Shadow. "First, you
believe that Nobby Kilgan was the crook who called himself Intimidation,
Incorporated. He was not. Again, you suppose that I killed Kilgan and that it
is your duty to hear my statements because I preserved your life. You are
mistaken on that point also. I did not finish Kilgan."
     "No?" Noy's query showed new surprise. "Then who did?"
     "Kilgan was slain by the criminal who poses as Intimidation,
Incorporated." Judge Noy was totally perplexed. All that he could do was
revert
to his previous question:
     "Who are you? How have you learned all this?"
     In reply, The Shadow removed his hat and cloak. Judge Noy stared at the
features of Lamont Cranston. He nodded, as he recognized the face that he had
seen before.
     "You were at the patent hearing," said the jurist. "I saw you there with
Hugh Bursard. Wait! I have it! You are Lamont Cranston, whose name was
mentioned in today's newspapers."
     "I have chosen that guise," declared The Shadow, in the quiet tone of
Cranston. "But when I appeared as you first saw me, wearing the cloak and hat
that I have just discarded, I am frequently called The Shadow."


     SUDDEN understanding dawned upon Judge Noy. He had heard of The Shadow,
but had never deemed that the supersleuth could be in Dorchester. Realizing
the
true identity of his visitor, Noy knew that he was due to listen to a thorough
explanation of perplexing facts. If any one could explain the devious methods
of Intimidation, Incorporated, it would be The Shadow.
     Judge Noy settled back to listen -
     In Cranston's calm fashion, The Shadow recounted all that had occurred.
He
told of double death: Meldon and Lenning. He related how Sack Balban had died,
much to the consternation of his lieutenants. He described the committee
meeting, at which four men had received the threat of Intimidation,
Incorporated, concerning the stadium contract.
     Facts pieced together as Judge Noy heard them. When he learned that
Clewiss had also received a threat in the courtroom, the judge thought that he
held the entire story. Then came the unexpected sequel, when The Shadow told
how he had stepped in ahead of Intimidation, Incorporated, to collect two
hundred thousand dollars from Newell Radbourne.
     That news brought a chuckle from Judge Noy, especially when The Shadow
handed him a bank book to show that the full sum had been deposited in a New
York bank.
     "You have handled matters well," commended the judge. "I see it clearly,
at last. Naturally, the master crook came here to kill me. He knows, of
course,
that Bursard will not dare to broadcast the facts that I suggested; also that
Wrightley, Clewiss, Radbourne - all of them must keep silent. Bursard had to
promise them protection.
     "My death seemed necessary because of my threat to publish the facts in
print, even if Bursard did not give them over the radio. Your shots prevented
the criminal's purpose. Kilgan died because he was foolish enough to blunder
into a duel that was too far beyond his capabilities. But tell me one thing:
How could the criminal have learned that I intended to make facts known?"
     "You mentioned it to Bursard," replied The Shadow. "He received the news
by telephone and passed it to Mayor Wrightley. In turn, Wrightley relayed it
to
Clewiss and Radbourne."
     Judge Noy sat astonished. Until this moment, he had not fully realized
the
depth of The Shadow's findings. When he found his voice, he fairly blurted:
     "Then one of the four is Intimidation, Incorporated! But which one is
guilty? Who is the rogue who has duped his own associates?"


     THE SHADOW picked up pencil and paper that lay on a table. He wrote a
name; folded the paper and held it toward the judge.
     "This paper," declared The Shadow, firmly, "bears the name of the man who
calls himself Intimidation, Incorporated. You may read it, Judge Noy, upon one
condition."
     "And that condition?"
     "Make no statement to the press. Let it appear that you have weakened.
Rely upon me to expose the culprit and his schemes."
     "Agreed, and willingly," decided Judge Noy, reaching for the paper. "I
shall give you full authority to handle the case."
     The Shadow released the paper. Eagerly, Noy opened it. He read the name;
his face showed new amazement. Looking toward The Shadow, the judge exclaimed:
     "Impossible! This man cannot be the criminal. Why, he -"
     The judge stopped short. The steadiness of The Shadow's gaze made him
consider. Slowly, Noy began to see a possible answer - one that he would have
completely rejected had The Shadow not shown such absolute certainty.
     "It might be," declared the judge, slowly. "Yes, it could be possible. I
begin to see how devilishly clever it would be. Something that no one would
ever believe, unless -"
     "Unless," inserted The Shadow, "complete proof could be given."
     "Exactly!" nodded the judge. "But how -"
     "How could the proof be demonstrated? It would have been clear tonight,
if
I had completed my plan. If the criminal had confronted you here in this room,
you would have needed no other evidence."
     The Shadow's words brought a convinced nod from Judge Noy. The jurist saw
exactly why The Shadow had waited for the arrival of the supercrook.
     "Since the showdown was postponed," resumed The Shadow, quietly, "we have
only to wait for another suitable occasion. We can then force this criminal to
reveal himself. We can accomplish it in the presence of a group of witnesses.
No explanation will suffice the criminal, once he makes one mistake."
     "But how can you tell his next move?" inquired Judge Noy. "It was plain
that he would come here tonight. But when I preserve silence, he will no
longer
seek me. Who else will he threaten?"
     "I have the bait," replied The Shadow. "Our enemy has lost two hundred
thousand dollars which he expected to gain by your court decision. He will go
to any measure to obtain that cash. Once a clue is given him, he will take a
long chance."
     "You have given the answer," agreed the judge, with a smile. He rose to
shake hands with his departing guest. "The man's own cupidity can destroy him.
I shall await your action. Good night, Mr. Cranston." Noy paused; his smile
broadened; he added: "Or, as I might better term you, The Shadow."
     Judge Noy led the way to the elevator and rang for the car. It came up,
manned by a regular operator, who showed no surprise at seeing a visitor with
the judge. The Shadow was carrying cloak and hat over his arm; he looked like
any guest who might have been calling on Judge Noy.
     Returning to the hotel, The Shadow went to his room and made a telephone
call. Donning cloak and hat, he went out to the linen closet where he had
stowed Brad. He cut the rangy crook's bonds; ordered Brad to march down the
stairs.
     Brad raised no objection. A gun muzzle between his shoulders was
sufficient argument.
     Holding Brad at the bottom of the stairway, The Shadow saw that the route
to the street was clear. He marched Brad through the passage. Outside, a light
truck was waiting; its closed sides gave it the appearance of a small van. Two
men were by the truck. They took charge of Brad.
     The Shadow went back into the hotel, opened the end telephone booth and
released Skeet. He brought the second crook out to the truck.
     Both thugs were hustled aboard; the rear door was locked to keep them
prisoners. The Shadow's men drove away, while their chief watched the
departure
from darkness. The Shadow had shipped Brad and Skeet to a destination where
they
could no longer engage in crime; to a colony that he had established for
crooks
of their ilk.
     In so doing, The Shadow accomplished two things. The first concerned Brad
and Skeet; he had shown them mercy and was giving them an opportunity to try a
better mode of life.
     The second accomplishment was important to The Shadow himself. By
shipping
Brad and Skeet to parts unknown, The Shadow had removed the only two crooks in
Dorchester who could connect him with the roles of Lamont Cranston and Link
Delvo. The secret of The Shadow's threefold identity was preserved.
     His past methods fully covered, The Shadow was free to resume his
campaign
against the master crook called Intimidation, Incorporated. With Judge Hancock
Noy as an ally, The Shadow could count on new cooperation.


    CHAPTER XIII

    IN TWO CAMPS

      IT was not until two o'clock the next afternoon that The Shadow strolled
from the Dorchester House. Wearing the guise of Lamont Cranston, he entered a
taxicab and rode to the office building where Station MXDO was located.
      The office building presented a different appearance when viewed by day.
People were going in and out by the front door; also by the side entrance in
the far portion of the building. There were very few, however, who entered the
special corner where the elevator led directly up to MXDO.
      Not until night would the radio station be busy. Its time of activity
always began after the office building was deserted and darkened for the
night.
      The Shadow, however, headed for the radio station. He arrived on the top
floor, to find no one in attendance. He went to the director's office; there
he
found Bursard's bespectacled secretary. When The Shadow announced himself as
Mr.
Cranston, the secretary conducted him at once to Bursard's inner office.
      In that paneled room, The Shadow found four men awaiting him. Hugh
Bursard
was behind the desk. Mayor Jonathan Wrightley was seated opposite him. Newell
Radbourne was in a chair by the paneled wall. Pacing near the doorway was
Elwood Clewiss.
      It was Wrightley who greeted the visitor. Briefly, the pompous mayor
explained the reason for the committee meeting here.
      "I informed the committee that you called me," stated the pompous mayor.
"We are all anxious to hear what you have to tell us, Mr. Cranston. I deemed
it
best, however, that we should meet somewhere other than at the city hall.
Everyone agreed with me, and Mr. Bursard consented to hold the conference
here.
That is why I sent you a message asking you to come to MXDO."
      The Shadow nodded and sat down. Silence showed that all expected him to
speak. The Shadow began.
      "You know why I left town yesterday," he told the group. "My life was
threatened in the letter that I received from Intimidation, Incorporated.
Therefore, I complied with his terms. That done, I felt that I could return in
safety."
      Nods of agreement. No one present could find fault with the action.
Bursard spoke for the group when he expressed:
      "Any one of us would have done as you did, Mr. Cranston. Our only hope,
though, is that you can furnish us with some new facts."
      "Precisely," chimed in Mayor Wrightley. "We are determined to learn the
identity of this nefarious rogue who calls himself Intimidation,
Incorporated!"
     Clewiss and Radbourne added similar statements. The Shadow's lips
repressed a smile. He knew that all four meant what they said, but one man had
a different design than the others.
     Three wanted information for their own protection. They believed that The
Shadow - as Cranston - had been plucked by Intimidation, Incorporated. The
fourth man knew otherwise, for he, himself, was the supercrook. What that
fourth man wanted was information that would lead him to another crook who had
muscled in on the racket. It was plain that he did not suspect Lamont Cranston
as the message faker.


     "WHEN I received the two hundred thousand dollars from Radbourne,"
bluffed
The Shadow, calmly, "I went back to my hotel room. There, I found the note
from
Intimidation, Incorporated, beneath the door. I decided to obey its
instructions. However, I used judgment. In my luggage, I had a small alligator
bag, conspicuous because it bore the initials 'L. C.'; also because one of its
brass corners was bent. I packed the money in that bag; then scratched out the
letters 'L. C.'"
     "Why did you do that?" exclaimed Radbourne. "The bag would have been a
clue! You spoiled its usefulness!"
     "Not at all," returned The Shadow. "I actually made the bag more easy to
identify, as the scratches cannot be eradicated. Moreover, I made it look as
though I wanted to comply with the full terms of Intimidation, Incorporated. I
felt sure that the crook would think as you did, Mr. Radbourne; namely, that I
had tried to keep the bag from being a clue."
     "Good business," put in Elwood Clewiss. The Shadow's reasoning appealed
to
the lawyer. "What else can you tell us, Mr. Cranston?"
     "I was watched," affirmed The Shadow. "First, by a slinky sort of man who
was sneaking about in a bell boy's uniform. Again, by a husky-looking fellow
who was disguised as a taxi driver, in a cab outside the hotel. He was
watching
for me; so I went out by another door and took a different cab. The driver
looked honest, so I gave him the message to take to city hall."
     Mayor Wrightley was on his feet, tugging at a briefcase that he had
brought with him. As he loosened the straps, he looked toward The Shadow and
demanded:
     "Could you identify either of those men by their photographs, Mr.
Cranston?"
     "I could," replied The Shadow. "Without difficulty."
     The mayor produced a pair of rogues' gallery portraits and passed them
over the desk. The Shadow studied the pictures. One showed the face of Brad;
the other was a photograph of Skeet.
     "These are the men," he declared. "This one" - he indicated Skeet's
picture - "was the bell hop. This fellow" - he tapped Brad's photo - "was the
taxi driver. Do you know who they are, Mr. Mayor?"
     "A couple of local thugs," replied. Wrightley. "They worked for Nobby
Kilgan, the racketeer who was slain last night on the roof of Judge Noy's
penthouse. I learned this morning that the pair had disappeared about the time
of Kilgan's death."
     Elwood Clewiss strode up to the desk and pounded it. As his big fist
echoed on the woodwork, the lawyer stated:
     "The whole thing is plain," Sack Balban began, "this racket of
Intimidation, Incorporated. Nobby Kilgan got rid of Sack so that he could take
it over."
     "Then who killed Kilgan?"
     The question came from Bursard. Clewiss had an answer for it.
     "The man next in line," declared the lawyer. "Dorchester will have a new
big-shot by tonight. When he is named, we will know who murdered Kilgan."
     "Fair enough," put in Bursard, "but we won't be able to prove it on the
fellow."
     "We don't have to," insisted Clewiss. "We'll know that he is the new head
of Intimidation, Incorporated. We can then take measures to protect ourselves
against him; to finish this whole racket."


      CLEWISS struck the keynote. The conference had swung exactly as The
Shadow
had expected it. The only point that The Shadow could not have answered
beforehand was, which one of the four committee men would be the first to
catch
the drift. Clewiss, a competent attorney, had risen to the occasion more
quickly
than the others.
      The Shadow shook hands all around. He expressed pleasure in the fact that
he had been of service. He remarked that since he would not be needed in
Dorchester, he would return to New York.
      Mayor Wrightley saw him to the door and gave a final handshake.
      "You have aided us immensely, Mr. Cranston," he said.
      "Our course is clear at last. We were under the impression that our enemy
was some master mind who could not be thwarted. Since we have found out that
Intimidation, Incorporated, is part of a local racket, we can approach the
perpetrator boldly. We shall soon learn the name of Kilgan's successor. These
racketeers work openly, because their business is tolerated by the law. They
always make it clear who is their leader."


     THERE was no doubt about The Shadow's intention to leave Dorchester. He
went back to the hotel, checked out and made his departure as Lamont Cranston.
This time, he went by train.
     The Shadow, however, had planned a dramatic return, which he had not
mentioned. It took place several hours later, when a large coupe pulled into
Dorchester and proceeded to a parking lot not far from one of the main
streets.
     The driver who alighted from that old but expensive-looking automobile
was
in the guise of Link Delvo.
     The Shadow locked up his car. With Link's brisk swagger, he went along
the
street and stopped at a pool room. The place was well-thronged, for it was one
of the spots where rackets flourished.
     The pool room was actually the headquarters of a bookie who paid off
racing bets. His business was just within the law, as it was interpreted in
this State; but there were always some hoodlums on duty to see that no
customer
raised a squawk.
     Entering the front of the pool room, The Shadow passed a group of men who
were playing slot machines. There were no pikers among these players. The
machines that took nickels and dimes were off in a forgotten corner. The slots
that were in use took quarters and half dollars. The yank of handles ceased
suddenly as one of the players saw Link Delvo. An awed silence grouped the
bunch as The Shadow strode past.
     Going into a rear room, the supposed Link Delvo found a group around a
pool table, figuring the day's take on the bookie racket. The calculations
ceased when the men saw Link. Looking over the crowd, The Shadow gave a
contemptuous leer, which signified that he considered them all as small-fry.
     "Where's Klondike Greems?" he grated. "When's he due here to collect the
take?"
     "Klondike" Greems was one of the half dozen lieutenants who had served
under Sack Balban and Nobby Kilgan. Klondike always brought in the day's haul
from the racing bets. Other lieutenants handled the numbers racket, the
baseball pools and the profits from the slot machines.
     There was a savagery to The Shadow's question, that commanded a reply.
Uneasily, the bookie answered:
     "Klondike's up with the other big boys. They're going to hold an
election."
     "Yeah?" snorted The Shadow. "For what?"
     "To pick the guy that takes Nobby's place. There's got to be a main guy
in
town."
     "Sure there has to." The Shadow's faked lips were fixed in a significant
smile. "You're looking at him! You lugs don't need to wait until you hear from
Klondike. Just pass the word along that Link Delvo is top guy in Dorchester.
Get it?"
     With that, The Shadow strode out through the front door. The bookie
whistled.
     "That guy's taking a lot for granted," he declared, "but he sounded like
he meant it. We figured Klondike had a chance to be the big-shot. That's out,
boys. I'm stacking my money on Link Delvo, if he ever manages to get into that
meeting."


    STRIDING along a dark street, The Shadow reached the obscure entrance
that
led up to the meeting place. He rapped a signal on the door. It opened. A
brawny
lookout recognized Link Delvo and gave an ugly challenge:
     "You're back, huh? You don't belong! On your way, Link -"
     The lookout was reaching for a gun. The Shadow's left hand snapped
forward; his fist hooked the man's forearm. A quick backward jerk whipped the
rowdy toward the street. Clamping a swift right hand upon the fellow's neck,
The Shadow propelled him clear across the sidewalk. As the lookout hit the
gutter; his gun went clattering into the street.
     Immediately, The Shadow rammed the door shut and bolted it so the lookout
could not reenter. Swinging about, he whipped out a gun, just as an inner door
swung open. An inside guard was coming to support the lookout, for the clatter
had told him that something was amiss. The second thug had a drawn revolver,
but he never gained a chance to use it. Before he could aim the weapon, he saw
himself covered by the muzzle of a bigger gun, with Link Delvo's leering face
above it.
     "I'll take that heater," rasped The Shadow, plucking the rowdy's .38 from
the listless fist that held it. "Take a look at this smoke-wagon" - The Shadow
brandished the .45 revolver that he held - "and remember it! This rod is going
to back any orders that you get from upstairs!"
     Pocketing the guard's gun, The Shadow gave the fellow a hard elbow jolt
that nearly doubled him. Pocketing his own big gun, The Shadow strode up the
stairs and entered the swanky apartment where the lieutenants were in session.
     Startled eyes stared when they saw Link Delvo. Hands reached for guns;
then halted. Klondike and the other racketeers saw Link's right hand in its
coat pocket. They could see the bulge of the gun inside. Klondike decided to
speak for the group.
     "What's the idea?" he growled. "You lam outta town; then you barge in
again and think you're with us."
     "Yeah?" grated The Shadow. "Who says I lammed?"
     Klondike shifted uneasily.
     "That's the way the grapevine had it," he began. "We've been going on
what
we've heard."
     "From now on, you're going by what you see!"


      THERE was a lieutenant seated in back of the table, as temporary chairman
of the meeting. The fellow got up when he heard a growled order from Link
Delvo. Playing the tough part to perfection, The Shadow took the chair and
pounded for order.
      "Sack Balban wasn't big enough for this job," announced The Shadow, "and
neither was Nobby Kilgan. You know what happened to the pair of them."
      The table drawer was part way open. In it, The Shadow saw a small, empty
bottle; one that had once contained a supply of Sack's digestion tablets. The
Shadow tossed the empty bottle on the table.
      "Sack used to take pills out of that," he jeered. From his pocket, he
brought the .45 and thwacked it on the table. "I don't take pills, I give
them!
They're lead pills and I give them out of this!"
      Klondike and the others eyed the big revolver as The Shadow brandished
it.
      They met the gaze of glaring eyes that leered from Link Delvo's hardened
face.
      "Nobby Kilgan welshed." Listeners heard the statement from Link's twisted
lips. "He was ready to hand over a cut to some guy who calls himself
Intimidation, Incorporated. Nobby got his - and I know who dished it to him!"
      The significance of the rasped tone gave the impression that Link Delvo
was announcing himself as the man who had finished Nobby. It added the idea
that Link might also be the murderer of Sack. A few of the listeners still
felt
that Nobby was the one responsible for Sack's death; but that merely added to
their feeling that Link Delvo meant business. Granting that Nobby had been
smart enough to get rid of Sack, it made Link all the more formidable, since
he
had rubbed out Nobby.
      "I'm taking over," announced The Shadow, in the hard tone of Link. "I'm
running this outfit the way Sack Balban handled it. Fifty-fifty. This
Intimidation, Incorporated, guy that worried you is out! Let him holler for
his
cut. He won't get it."


     EYES looked toward Klondike Greems. It was plain that Klondike, as
candidate for the job of big-shot, had advised one-third payment to
Intimidation, Incorporated. Link Delvo, in ridiculing such tribute, had shown
himself bigger than Klondike. Link was the leader the lieutenants wanted.
Klondike was the first to acknowledge the new rule. He came to the table,
shoved his brawny hand across.
     "It's yours, Link," he announced. "Take over."
     Rising, The Shadow received Klondike's clasp; then the handshakes of the
others. He waved toward the door, as signal of dismissal.
     "I've already piped the news," he told he lieutenants, "but you fellows
can push it farther and faster. Everybody in Dorchester is going to know that
Link Delvo is head of this outfit."
     Klondike and the other lieutenants filed downstairs. Alone in the
sumptuous headquarters, The Shadow relaxed his fixed lips. He had completed
his
double task.
     As Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had convinced four men that the new
big-shot would be the enemy whom they must seek. As Link Delvo, The Shadow had
become that big-shot.
     The Shadow was ready to crack the game of Intimidation, Incorporated.
    CHAPTER XIV

    TERMS UNACCEPTED

     THE next morning, The Shadow awoke amid comfortable surroundings. He was
in a huge bedroom, which formed part of the apartment that he had inherited
from Sack Balban and Nobby Kilgan. Someone was rapping at the door.
     The Shadow donned a flashy dressing gown that had once belonged to Sack.
He unlocked the door, to find a smiling Japanese bowing from the living room.
     "Good morning, Mr. Delvo," announced the Jap, politely. "I am Kubi. I was
valet for Mr. Balban. Later for Mr. Kilgan."
     "So the boys sent you back on the job, eh?" grunted The Shadow, in Link's
style. "That's where they're showing sense. They'd better do things right."
     "Breakfast is ready, Mr. Delvo," declared Kubi, blandly. "I have brought
the morning newspapers, too."
     The Shadow sat down to breakfast in the living room. He held his fixed
smile while he scanned the morning headlines. The grapevine had moved fast.
Everyone concerned with rackets in Dorchester had learned that Link Delvo was
the new head man.
     Reporters had gobbled up the fact. Link Delvo, as latest successor to the
twice-vacated throne, was branded as a menace by the press. He was
Dorchester's
public enemy, according to hastily written editorials. It would be the duty of
every prominent citizen to make Link's path a thorny one.


     HAVING read the newspapers thoroughly, The Shadow picked up the telephone
and put in a call to the Evening Clarion. In harsh tones, he asked for the
managing editor. The connection was made; The Shadow announced himself as Link
Delvo. He could hear the editor's startled gasp across the wire.
     "Yeah, this is Link Delvo," repeated The Shadow. "I've been reading the
morning papers - all that they've got to say about me. That's why I'm calling
you, to give you the real lowdown, so that you can spill it in that sheet of
yours.
     "What I'm running is a legitimate business. Any guy that calls it a
racket
is cuckoo! Maybe Sack Balban and Nobby Kilgan were a couple of bum business
men,
but I'm not! Listen, I've got an office - the same one that they used - and
everybody knows where it is. That's where I'm going to be. In the office all
day.
     "Send your reporters over there. I'll talk to them. I'll tell them that
I'm ready to see anybody, any time. Particularly these fellows that are
supposed to be prominent citizens. Tell them to come around and talk to me.
The
door will be open. I'll tell them all about my business; they can find out for
themselves if it's phony. Yeah, and what's more, I'll listen to any
suggestions
they want to hand me. That's all."
     Finishing breakfast, The Shadow dressed and unlocked the door that
offered
passage to the office. He followed a corridor, came to a second door. He
unlocked it with another key supplied by Kubi. Accompanied by the Japanese,
The
Shadow stepped into the office.
     The place was well-equipped, for Sack Balban had always seen the need for
keeping up a good "front," even though he had only allowed special visitors in
this office. That policy was past.
        The Shadow went to the outer door and loosened a pair of special bolts.
He
opened the door, to unlatch it. He noted the thick panel of frosted glass and
observed that it was bulletproof.
     The door bore the wording: "Associated Enterprises," which Sack had
considered to be a good descriptive title for a collection of legitimatized
rackets. In one corner was the name: "Mr. Balban." The Shadow chuckled
harshly.
     "Looks like Nobby was too busy to get rid of Sack's moniker," he remarked
to Kubi. "Well, I'll attend to that in a hurry. You slide out, Kubi, and find
a
guy that can paint a new name on the door."
     "Very good, Mr. Delvo."
     "And something else, Kubi." The Shadow gestured with his hands to
indicate
an object of oblong shape. "While you're out, buy me a traveling bag about
this
big. It's got to be an alligator bag. Understand? Have it wrapped up and bring
it back here."
     "Very good, Mr. Delvo. Before I go, you want combination to safe?"
     Kubi pointed to the corner, where a large safe was in view. The Shadow
grinned and remarked:
     "So you're the guy they used to pass along the combination in case
anything happened. Good stuff, Kubi. Slip it to me."


        KUBI handed over a folded piece of paper and went out through the front
door.
     Soon there was a knock. The Shadow, already looking into the safe,
stopped
to open the door. The arrival was the sign painter, ready to change the name.
The Shadow instructed him and stood by, watching the man obliterate the name
of
Balban.
     The painter had just begun to inscribe "Delvo" when a pair of reporters
arrived from the Evening Clarion.
     The Shadow invited the newspaper men into the office, filled their
pockets
with cigars and gave them the interview they wanted. Substantially, he
repeated
the statements that he had made to the managing editor, but with more
embellishments.
     The painter left during the interview; Kubi returned with a wrapped
bundle
just as the reporters were going out by the front door.
     "Go out by the back way, Kubi," ordered The Shadow: "Tell the boys that
there's to be a meeting at eight o'clock tonight. Then come back to the
apartment and stay there. Bring me some lunch at two o'clock."
     During the hours that followed, The Shadow made a thorough study of all
the documents that he found in the safe. Sack Balban had kept complete books,
but all of them were in code. It did not take The Shadow long to decipher the
system. He proceeded to inscribe the correct figures, along with every item.
     By two o'clock, the secret books were no longer meaningless. They told
the
whole story of Sack's rackets. They had become evidence which, if made public,
could shatter the whole game. The Shadow replaced the books in the safe and
locked the huge door.
     Shortly afterward, Kubi arrived with the lunch tray.
     DURING the meal, a letter slipped through the mail chute in the door and
fell to the floor. The Shadow picked it up; noted that the envelope was
addressed to Link Delvo. He recognized the typing; smiled as he opened the
letter. Inside, he read a message that he had expected. It read:

      DEAR SIR: You have come into certain funds that total two hundred
thousand
dollars. That money is my rightful property. You will have it available on
call.
Let me remind you also that one-third of your regular profits must be
delivered
to me upon demand. That was the agreement made by your predecessor, Nobby
Kilgan.
      To show your acceptance of these terms, you will proceed as follows:
First, notify the Evening Clarion that you intend to apply for a concession at
the State exposition. Second, leave an opened check book on the left side of
your office desk.
      Destroy this letter. Mention it to no one. Failure to follow any of these
directions will mean your death within twelve hours after receipt of this
letter.
                                       INTIMIDATION, INCORPORATED.

     The envelope bore a nine o'clock postmark. It was plain that the master
crook had read about Link Delvo in the morning newspapers. Not sure that he
would find opportunity to visit Link's office, the crook had made the double
provision.
     It was two o'clock, now. If any immediate statement should be made to the
Evening Clarion, the news would be in print by four. However, the first
edition
of the newspaper was already on the street, and it contained the statements
wherein Link Delvo invited all callers to his office.
     The Shadow was sure that the intimidator would take the bait. Knowing
that
others would doubtless visit Link Delvo's office, he would come also.
Likewise,
he would look for the special statement in a later copy of the Evening
Clarion.
It so happened that the master crook would find neither token that he wanted.
The Shadow had planned a different sign for him.
     The Shadow did not put a check book on the desk; nor did he call the
newspaper. He did not destroy the letter; he pocketed it instead. He opened
the
package that Kubi had brought; from it, he took the alligator bag.
     With a knife, The Shadow scraped the side of the bag at the exact spot
where initials would appear. Prying, he bent one of the bag's brass corners.
     Opening the scarred bag, he placed it on the safe, standing it on end so
its vacancy showed toward the door. He turned it slightly, so that the
scratched portion could be seen.
     The Shadow, as Link Delvo, had prepared his defiant answer to
Intimidation, Incorporated. That bag - presumably the imaginary one that had
contained the boodle - would stand as absolute proof that terms were not
accepted.
     His challenge ready, The Shadow sat down behind the desk to await the
visit of the master crook.


     CHAPTER XV

     THE COMMITTEE WAITS
      SHORTLY before three, there was a rap at the office door. In Link Delvo's
voice, The Shadow issued a growl to enter. The man who stepped into the office
was Elwood Clewiss. The rugged-faced lawyer studied the countenance of Link
Delvo. The Shadow rasped the announcement:
      "I'm Link Delvo. Let's hear who you are."
      "My name is Clewiss," returned the lawyer, his tone as hard as The
Shadow's. "Maybe you've heard of me. Next month, I'll be district attorney
here
in Dorchester."
      "But you aren't D.A. yet. So what?"
      Clewiss did not reply immediately. He heard the contemptuous question,
but
his eyes were keeping him otherwise occupied. He had forgotten the leering
face
of Link Delvo, to look toward the safe in the corner. There, Clewiss saw the
alligator bag.
      The bag fitted the description of the one that The Shadow had mentioned
during his last appearance as Cranston. It gave Clewiss the proof he wanted.
The lawyer was satisfied that Link Delvo was the person who had gained the
missing two hundred thousand dollars.
      Realizing that sharp eyes were watching, Clewiss concentrated on the
desk.
      "I just read the Evening Clarion, Delvo," he stated. "You invited people
to come here so that you could tell them that your rackets were on the up and
up. You know that they aren't on the level and so do I. They'd better be, or
you'll be in for trouble!"
      "There's a month yet," retorted The Shadow, "before you'll be taking over
the job as D.A."
      "You'd better change your business arrangements long before that,"
declared Clewiss. "The sooner the better, Delvo. If I were in your shoes, I'd
take some action on the matter today."


     THAT finished the interview. Clewiss departed. The Shadow had a free half
hour. At the end of that period, a rap announced another visitor. The caller
proved of be Hugh Bursard.
     Again, The Shadow gave no sign that he recognized the visitor. He kept to
the part of Link Delvo; and Bursard, although he studied the new big-shot
keenly, gained no inkling that Link could have been Cranston. After
introducing
himself as the head of MXDO, Bursard produced a copy of the Evening Clarion.
     "You have made a statement to the press, Mr. Delvo," said Bursard.
"Perhaps you already know that I act as commentator over the radio,
broadcasting from MXDO. My talks concern current news in Dorchester."
     "I've heard some of your chatter," growled The Shadow. "I never figured
it
was worth listening to."
     "Thank you for the frank opinion, Mr. Delvo," smiled Bursard. "Other
persons have already told me that they thought my talks lacked punch. Certain
friends have asked me to make them stronger. One of those friends is Judge
Hancock Noy."
     "He's the guy that Nobby Kilgan wanted to croak."
     "Yes. I feel sure that Judge Noy will expect me to condemn all persons
who
were associated with Kilgan. Since you have already forced yourself into
prominence, I shall have to criticize your so-called business enterprises when
I go on the air."
     "Go to it. Every knock is a boost. Be sure you get my name right. Better
copy it down. You'll find it there on the door, when you go out."
     Bluntly, The Shadow had indicated that he wanted to hear nothing more
from
Bursard. The long-faced visitor arose; took another look at the countenance of
Link Delvo. Strolling toward the door, Bursard shot a sidelong glance toward
the corner. The Shadow noted it; he knew that Bursard had spied the alligator
bag.


     HALF past four produced a third visitor - a man who entered almost
doubtfully, after The Shadow had responded to his knock. The third arrival was
Newell Radbourne; the thin-faced financier was ill at ease for a few moments;
then the luxurious setting of the office reassured him. Radbourne always felt
at home in fine surroundings.
     Seating himself at the desk, Radbourne chanced to spy the alligator bag.
The sight almost quailed him. He ran a shaky hand through his white hair, then
steadied himself with effort. He announced his name and saw a pleased
expression register itself on the hard face of Link Delvo.
     "So you're Newell Radbourne!" The Shadow adopted the smoothest tone that
he had yet used as Link Delvo. "The fellow they call 'Big Moneybags.' Say -
you
must have liked that stuff the Evening Clarion printed about me. What do you
want to do? Back me in some new business?"
     "No, no," returned Radbourne. "I do not approve of rackets - I mean the
sort of businesses that you guys have chosen -"
     "Never mind the apology. I don't get sore easy. What's the difference
between a racket and a business, anyway? They're both the same thing, when you
come down to it."
     Radbourne smiled. He was encouraged by the friendly attitude of Link
Delvo.
     "The distinction is a matter of opinion," admitted the financier.
"However, the public - and the law - choose to regard certain enterprises as
rackets. Yours are of that sort."
     "They're legalized. That makes them businesses."
     "Yes - until the law decides otherwise. This State has a legislature, Mr.
Delvo. Eventually, it will outlaw your enterprises. In the meantime, however,
your activities are ruining certain legitimate businesses in which I have a
financial interest."
     Radbourne waited. Hearing no comment, he added:
     "On that account, I thought you might be willing to cut down some of your
more extensive operations. Such action might be beneficial to both of us."
     The Shadow considered Radbourne's suggestion.
     "I get it," he said suddenly, with a guffaw that suited the part of Link.
"You figure I'm working it too strong. Maybe you're right. Suppose I do put on
some clamps. What is there in it?"
     "From me?" Radbourne shook his head. "I can promise nothing. I have
merely
given you sound advice. I might add that in many financial circles, my advice
is
valued highly."
     "Good enough, Mr. Radbourne. I'm glad you dropped in. We'll have to get
together again and work up a deal."


     A FEW minutes later The Shadow was alone, thinking over the three visits.
It was plain that Clewiss, Bursard and Radbourne had bluffed their way while
in
the office, in order to get a first-hand glimpse of the notorious Link Delvo.
All had tried to make it plain that they were not in awe of him. Therefore,
The
Shadow expected another visitor. He was confident that before the day closed,
Mayor Jonathan Wrightley would make his appearance.
     It was close to six o'clock when a sharp rap betokened the final visitor.
Mayor Wrightley was the man who entered; but he was not alone. Behind him were
a pair of detectives, whom he ordered to remain in the hall. Closing the door,
Wrightley approached the desk with pompous stride.
     "Hello, Mr. Mayor," came the rasp of Link Delvo. "I know you from your
pictures. They don't call you 'Old Whiskers' for nothing."
     "You're Link Delvo?" demanded Wrightley, in an outraged tone. "The man
who
thinks he is too important for the law to reach?"
     "I'm Link Delvo, all right. But you didn't need to drag a couple of
gumshoes up here with you. What's the gag?"
     "Delvo, I am warning you!" Wrightley bristled, as he stood in front of
the
desk and wagged an accusing figure. "Crime must cease in Dorchester! I can no
longer tolerate murder in this city!"
     "Who are you accusing!"
     Mayor Wrightley had no answer for the harsh query. He had seen the
alligator bag. His fists tightened; his eyes glared. He, too, had found bold
evidence. When he managed to calm himself, the mayor delivered his ultimatum.
     "One more case of gunplay," he asserted, "I shall be forced to act
against
you and all your followers. With or without proof, I shall hold you
responsible
for any trouble that occurs. You, personally, Delvo. I shall be backed by
public opinion. For your own good, Delvo, I am warning you. Unless you use
discretion, your game will be finished.
     "You will find yourself watched at every turn. I am within my rights in
ordering detectives to keep full check on your activities. Do not be surprised
when you see detectives hereabouts. Do not make the mistake of trying to harm
them."


     POMPOUSLY, the mayor swung about and stalked from the office. The Shadow
went over to the safe, closed the alligator bag and tossed it beside the wall.
His interviews were ended for the day. They had worked as he had anticipated.
     Of four men who had come here, three believed that they had found the
real
brains behind Intimidation, Incorporated; that their individual visits had
told
Link Delvo that they were strong enough to defy him in the future, since they
faced an enemy of known identity.
     The fourth man had formed a different impression. He was a lone hand, a
supercrook looking for the man who had muscled in on his racket. He had come
to
find out if his terms were accepted. The master crook had learned that such
was
not the case.
     If he had held any doubt that Link Delvo was not the man he sought, he
was
no longer in such quandary. Though the alligator bag had been displayed so
that
four men could see it, The Shadow had actually placed it in view for the
benefit of one definite visitor.
     From his pocket, The Shadow drew the letter that had come to him as Link
Delvo. He read its final threat. The words brought a whispered laugh from his
disguised lips. The Shadow wanted to meet the threat of Intimidation,
Incorporated. He was ready for it, looking forward to the hour when he would
meet the master crook in person.
     The Shadow spent the next two hours making final survey of Sack Balban's
books. He replaced them in the safe, locked its door and stepped across the
office.
     Opening the door suddenly, he heard a stir from somewhere across the
corridor. Detectives, on the watch, had scurried out of sight. The Shadow
closed the office door; left it unlatched so that the dicks could come in and
snoop, if they had the nerve.
     It was nearly eight o'clock; time for the lieutenants to gather in the
apartment. The Shadow turned out the office lights. He went through the
passage
to the apartment. He opened the door and was greeted by a smoke-filled room.
Klondike Greems and the other five lieutenants had arrived ahead of him.
     Nods and grins were in order as the lieutenants saw Link Delvo. His hand
on the doorknob, The Shadow saw something hollow in the welcome. He paused,
his
face showed a hard scowl as he eyed Klondike Greems. The chief lieutenant gave
a
sudden snarl. It came with the speed of a command.
     Up from their chairs swung the other five lieutenants, each man whipping
his hand into view as he came. Simultaneously, Klondike shot his fist for his
own hip pocket, copying the move that the rest of the crowd had made.
     Revolvers glimmered. Gun muzzles loomed toward a single objective: the
doorway where The Shadow stood. In less than a single second, six rogues had
staged a mutiny. At Klondike's order, they had turned traitors against Link
Delvo and were ready to dethrone him.
     The Shadow had no chance to whirl away. Nor could he reach for the big
revolver that he carried. One false move would have brought him instant death
from crooks whose fingers were itching on the hair triggers of their guns.
Squarely on the spot, The Shadow's one course was to stand his ground.
     Almost surrounded by the muzzles of six looming revolvers, The Shadow had
stepped into a trap that promised positive doom!


    CHAPTER XVI

    BLUFF VERSUS BRAWN

     WHATEVER the cause of his sudden predicament, The Shadow knew that he
could solve it only by adhering to the part of Link Delvo. More than that, he
realized that one ill-chosen word would be as bad as a false move.
     Something had happened within the past few hours; something that had
dropped Link Delvo's stock to zero. Death, though it threatened, would not be
delivered in haste, for crooks held their quarry safely enough. In the short
while that remained, The Shadow would have to talk fast; but he wanted someone
else to start the palaver.
     Picking Klondike as the leader of the mutineers, The Shadow concentrated
on him. He grinned as he eyed the ringleader, and gave a sneer that betokened
amusement. Klondike studied the glaring face of Link Delvo and shifted
uneasily. Then, with a hoarse chuckle of his own, Klondike took the very step
The Shadow wanted.
     Klondike decided to explain.
     "A big-shot, huh?" he snorted. "Yeah, that's what you call yourself. But
there's a bigger shot than Link Delvo in this town. He's a guy we'd rather
work
for. The guy that really knocked off Nobby Kilgan!"
     From his pocket, Klondike pulled a typewritten sheet of paper, flourished
it in front of the face of Link Delvo.
     "Flash the others," said Klondike to the lieutenants. Then, when the rest
produced their letters, Klondike added: "See them? They were shoved to all of
us, only half an hour ago. They came along the grapevine. Straight from the
guy
that calls himself Intimidation, Incorporated.
     "He's handed us a better proposition. We're to run the rackets without
you, Link; and he's taking a third, instead of fifty-fifty. The deal goes
through as soon as you're rubbed out. Which will make it easier all around.
We're wise that Old Whiskers blew in to see you this afternoon. We got that
from headquarters. With you out, there'll be less trouble from the coppers."
     Stepping back, Klondike opened a closet door. Out rolled Kubi, the valet,
bound and gagged. While the others kept The Shadow covered, Klondike released
Kubi and shoved the Japanese against the wall. Kubi slumped there. He looked
half groggy.
     "We slugged him when he was starting in to tip you off," informed
Klondike, "and it's curtains for him, along with you. There won't be no
big-shot needing Kubi here. This is where they're going to find you, Link,
loaded with as much lead as you can carry!"


     KLONDIKE paused. He stared triumphantly, expecting to see dismay on the
face of Link Delvo. Instead, Klondike observed eyes that had narrowed; lips
that formed a harder grin. He heard the grated words:
     "You're through talking, Klondike?"
     Klondike nodded. He was puzzled, wondering what was going on in the brain
behind Link's cold eyes. It was lucky that Klondike did not guess. If he had,
he would have snapped the order for guns to get busy. The Shadow was forming
quick conclusions from the facts that he had heard. Automatically, he was
finding a rebuttal for all that Klondike had said.
     The Shadow had expected a personal encounter with the master crook who
posed as Intimidation, Incorporated. Instead, the criminal had sprung another
plan. Cagily, he had figured Link Delvo as too tough a nut to crack. He had
jumped to the idea of downing the big-shot through his own lieutenants.
     The master criminal had figured that Link had bluffed his way to the top.
He had also doped it that Link was not too fully established; that he could be
overthrown by some smart trick. The master crook had tried his plan. So far,
it
had worked; as matters stood, a few minutes more would bring complete success
to
the stroke planned by Intimidation, Incorporated.
     There was just one flaw. The master villain had sent too many letters.
     Had he depended upon Klondike and about two others, the set-up would have
been perfect. Three men would have greeted Link Delvo with a barrage of
bullets. Six, however, were willing to bide their time; to let Link turn
yellow
and deliver useless pleas.
     It happened, though, that no squeals were coming from the lips of Link
Delvo: Instead, the big-shot seemed contemptuous of danger.


     "ALL right, Klondike," came Link's rasped tone: "Suppose you listen a
while. You're in no hurry. Maybe I can give you a few pointers."
     "About what?"
     "About bumping me. I want to make it easy for you. Old Whiskers has got
this joint cased. He'd like to see me croaked. But he won't like it if you
make
too much noise about it. Tell Kubi to get you some big towels, so you can wrap
them around the gats. Those heaters won't talk so loud when you use them. Then
you can walk out of here any way you want. You can take the boys to a late
movie, for an alibi."
     Klondike stared; then looked at the other lieutenants. Like himself, they
were impressed by the smooth calmness shown by Link Delvo. Klondike snarled.
     "Trying to stall us, huh?" he questioned. "That gag won't work, Link. We
know how to do our shooting."
     "There won't be any shooting." The words came coldly from the lips of
Link
Delvo. "The gag's all over, boys. You've showed your nerve. Only you didn't
come
through the way I expected. You've been letting this Intimidation stuff get
you.
I figured that I'd overworked it."
     Klondike tilted his head to squint at the face of Link Delvo. In puzzled
tone, the lieutenant demanded:
     "What was that you figured?"
     "That I'd gone too heavy with the Intimidation stuff," replied The
Shadow,
smoothing his tone. "Sack didn't fall for it; but after I croaked him, Nobby
went haywire. He went so goofy that he thought he'd have to bump old Judge
Noy.
That's why I had to go up through the empty office building and bump him from
the other roof."
     "That's what the letters say!" blurted one of the lieutenants. "The
Intimidation guy wrote us that he knocked off Nobby from the other building!"
     "Just what I'm telling you now," put in The Shadow. "I wanted to see how
those letters hit you. That's why I sent them. Only, I figured you'd bring
them
here to me, every guy on his own. Then I was going to put you wise."
     "Wait a minute," snapped Klondike. "What're you trying to tell us? That
you're Intimidation, Incorporated?"
     "Everybody seems to have got the idea but you, Klondike."
     "Yeah? Well, I'm still from Missouri."
     "Ask Kubi, then. He typed the letters for me. He used that typewriter
over
there in the corner."
     The Shadow looked at Kubi as he spoke. The Jap grinned as he looked up
from the wall. He saw Klondike looking toward him. Kubi gave a nod.
     "Sure," said Kubi. "I type letters."


     GUN hands were lowering. Klondike saw them move. He snapped an order that
brought them up again.
     "Hold it!" commanded Klondike. "Link's not going to hand us a phony piece
of goods. Get over there to the typewriter, Kubi. Stick a hunk of paper in it
and knock off some words. Put them in capital letters. I'll take a gander."
     Klondike flourished the letter that he held, then added:
     "The bulls think they're smart, comparing stuff that's been done on
typewriters. We'll see how it works for us."
     Kubi put the sheet of paper into the typewriter and rattled off the
capital letters in expert fashion. Klondike approached, held his letter to
compare it with the typing. Another lieutenant did the same.
     "Looks like he's right," began Klondike. "Here, Kubi, pull that paper up
higher -"
     Two more lieutenants turned at Klondike's statement. Only a pair remained
covering The Shadow. Their gun hands were relaxing as a sudden oath came from
Klondike.
     The ringleader had gained a chance for closer comparison; enough to see
that the typing done by Kubi differed from that of the letter. Before the
lieutenants could catch the meaning of Klondike's snarl, they heard the rasp
of
Link Delvo:
     "Get going, Kubi!"
     The Japanese made a grab for Klondike. He caught the ringleader with a
quick hold and swung him across the typewriter. One lieutenant pounced upon
the
Jap. The other four aimed for The Shadow. They saw the supposed Link Delvo
come
into instant action.
      Two of the crowd already had The Shadow covered, but they lost their
chance to drill him. One was just beyond the opened door where The Shadow
stood. With a sweep of his left hand, The Shadow gave the door a terrific
swing
that flung it fully open. The heavy barrier bowled the crook from his feet
before he could use his gun.
      With the same move, The Shadow lunged upon the second rowdy, jabbing his
left hand for the man's right wrist. Swerving as he came, The Shadow was out
of
line as the crook tugged the trigger. One bullet sizzled through the open
doorway; the next found the ceiling as The Shadow flung the crook's arm
upward.
      Spinning the thug with a swivel motion, The Shadow yanked him into
position to serve as a living shield. As wild shots rang, he whipped his
revolver from his hip, shoved it across the helpless crook's shoulder and
opened bombardment. His first bullet clipped an aiming lieutenant. His next
shot sent the fourth man diving for cover.
      For an instant, The Shadow had the edge; then his odds were lost. Kubi
had
been hurled to the floor. Klondike, losing his gun, grabbed the typewriter
table
and scaled it for The Shadow. To dodge the heavy missile, The Shadow had to
release the man who served him as a shield. He dived for a corner, jabbing two
shots as he went.
      Crooks fired back, but their shots were wide. They were seeking cover as
they fired. One of The Shadow's well-pumped shots dropped a second crook, but
there were still four at large. Klondike had stumbled on his revolver. He was
coming back into the fray.
      There was one chance for The Shadow before he exhausted his ammunition,
for he was down to the last bullet that the gun contained. That chance was the
light switch. The Shadow sprang for it.
      The switch was by the outer door. Two gunmen leaped to reach it ahead of
The Shadow. A third fired, but his shots were useless. He was the one who had
taken the wallop from the door. He was dizzy when he aimed.
      Klondike was bounding forward to settle matters; but Kubi tripped him
with
an ankle grab. The Shadow gained the switch, but did not press it. There was
no
need. From another quarter was coming intervention upon which he had counted.
      The detectives outside beyond the office had heard the gunfire and were
coming through to join battle.
      Two of the rowdies saw them and dived for the stairs. Klondike, coming to
hands and knees, aimed for the face of Link Delvo. He was ready with a loaded
gun, his finger on the trigger, and his aim was perfect. But Klondike never
fired. The Shadow blasted his last bullet and found the needed target.
Klondike
rolled to the floor.
      One detective corralled the dizzy crook beside the inner door. Kubi
grappled with the other. Below, The Shadow could hear commotion on the stairs.
Two lieutenants had escaped; they were shouting for thugs outside to help them
bag Link Delvo.
      The Shadow sprang down the stairway; crooks scattered as they saw him
coming. One man - the lookout - made a pass with his gun. The Shadow sledged
him with the big revolver.
      Cutting across the street, The Shadow made an alleyway as shots rang out
behind him. To bring them to a frantic chase, he wanted crooks to see that
Link
Delvo had fled. The word was passing everywhere; mobsters reached the parking
lot just as The Shadow yanked open the door of his coupe.
     Driving away, The Shadow yanked open a bag that he had left in the locked
car. He whipped out an automatic from beneath the folds of a black cloak. As a
crook-manned car swept toward him from a side street, he gave it a head-on
fire
that sent the other automobile to the curb.
     Wheeling corners, The Shadow began a circuitous flight through the side
streets of Dorchester. As he drove, he heard the shriek of sirens.
     Crooks were no longer handling the chase. The police had taken over the
pursuit of Link Delvo. Swinging into a narrow street, The Shadow jammed the
brakes. Whisking his cloak over his shoulders, clamping his slouch hat to his
head, he snatched up his automatics and decamped.


     HALF a minute later, a police car saw the lights of the coupe. They were
tilted, for one wheel of the car was on the curb. They recognized Link Delvo's
car, shouted their challenge and received no reply. A machine gun clattered,
ripping the interior of the coupe. Officers arrived to find the car empty.
     Link Delvo was gone; his trail was one that could never be located, for
Link Delvo existed no longer. As for The Shadow, he had a new headquarters,
only a few blocks away. His new residence was to be the penthouse of Judge
Hancock Noy.
     The law, stirred to action, had begun a man hunt. Unseen, his very
presence unknown, The Shadow intended to direct it. When the trail ended, the
law would find the actual master criminal who had terrorized the city of
Dorchester.
     The Shadow was ready to expose the supercrook who masqueraded as
Intimidation, Incorporated.


     CHAPTER XVII

     THE FOUR MESSAGES

      DAY dawned on the greatest commotion that the city of Dorchester had ever
known. Every hour of the night had become more sensational in the man hunt for
Link Delvo. Events had built up in pyramid fashion, until Dorchester had taken
on the appearance of an armed camp.
      Crooks had started it in an effort to bag Link Delvo. The police,
rallying
to the situation, had clashed with hoodlum bands. Though both had the same
purpose - the pursuit of Link Delvo - their methods did not mix. The secret
underworld had raised its scummy head; the law had chopped it down.
      Events went far beyond anything that Mayor Jonathan Wrightley had
expected. The mayor had merely given the word to watch Link Delvo. Taken
literally, the police had carried that order to the limit. Aroused from bed by
maddened citizens, Wrightley took the only course that public opinion could
allow. He called out all reserves, including the fire department. He deputized
citizens to aid the law.
      No one, seemingly, had guessed the extent of Dorchester's underworld. The
number of crooks in the city exceeded all estimates, and the entire lot had
gone berserk. If the job of quelling crime had been left to Wrightley alone,
Dorchester would have suffered badly, for the municipal forces were inadequate
to cope with rampant crime.
      Fortunately, however, there was intervention.
      State police had poured into Dorchester early in the madness. During
those
hours before dawn, new companies of troopers were arriving from everywhere.
They
penetrated to nests where crooks had fled and yanked the skulking hoodlums
into
light.
     Not once had criminals gained the upper hand, thanks to the massed aid
that came to Dorchester. Morning showed the law in full control. Patrol
wagons,
fire trucks and commandeered automobiles were hauling in their quotas of
captured thugs. When jails were filled, excess prisoners were bustled off in
huge batches to the nearest State prison.
     Rackets were ended in Dorchester. All morning, the city echoed with the
slash of axes and the hammer of sledges as police and troopers broke up slot
machines and ruined the interiors of gilded places where legalized crime had
flourished. Scattered remnants of former hoodlum bands had taken to cover;
they
were cringing in cellars and garrets, hoping that their hide-outs would not be
uncovered until nightfall, when they might find opportunity to sneak away from
this city where they were no longer wanted.


      SHORTLY after noon, the Evening Clarion issued important news. Credit for
the law's triumph belonged to Judge Hancock Noy. Immediately after trouble
began, the jurist had foreseen the consequences. He was the man who had called
the governor. It was through the jurist's foresight that crime had been
quelled.
      The Evening Clarion gave statistics that enlightened the public. Twenty
crooks had died in battle; three times that number lay wounded. Fully five
hundred prisoners had been taken.
      On the law's side, a dozen police had been wounded in the early
skirmishes. Casualties had dropped off when State troopers arrived. Fighting
in
efficient groups, they had scattered the bands of crooks, driving the hoodlums
to wild and hopeless flight. By barricading the roads from Dorchester, the
State police had bottled up the frenzied thugs whose only thought was to get
away.
      Judge Noy was responsible for another important stroke.
      State police had looked to Noy for orders. He sent them to the office of
Link Delvo. The troopers brought away Link's safe and cracked it open. Inside,
they found the incriminating books that showed the profits gorged in the past.
The whole set-up of the rackets formerly run by Sack Balban and Nobby Kilgan
was open for police inspection.
      One fact was clearly revealed. In its many twisted coils, the Dorchester
crime ring had involved certain local citizens, including some of the city
police. The books showed it, and a clean-up was in prospect. Fortunately for
Mayor Wrightley and high officials, they had played a strict hands-off policy
and were therefore whitewashed. But Wrightley was under censure and he knew
it.
      The pompous mayor should have known the extent of Dorchester's
underworld.
He had not, apparently, recognized it. His only excuse was his own ignorance,
and that was a poor one. It irked Wrightley to see the city held by State
forces, and he was not happy when he learned that State authorities had beaten
him to the task of grabbing Link Delvo's record books. It looked as though
Judge Noy had not trusted the city police to handle the job.
      To offset rising criticism, Wrightley went the limit. He offered a reward
for Link Delvo; dead or alive. He kept all his available police on the man
hunt; he amplified their forces with all the firemen he could spare. He
pleaded
that State police be withdrawn from Dorchester.
      His request was partly answered. Since the local authorities at last held
control, more than half of the out-of-town forces were removed. But there were
still enough to take control if new emergency arose.
     WHILE the man hunt was proceeding, the Evening Clarion uncovered another
scoop for its later editions. Facts were made known concerning Intimidation,
Incorporated. Men who had hitherto held silence began to speak. They told how
they had been used as dupes in huge transactions, by a master crook whose
measures had far exceeded those of the local racketeers.
     Four men were keeping silence, with good reason.
     Mayor Wrightley was in too bad a spot to admit that he had quailed before
a threat from Intimidation, Incorporated. Elwood Clewiss was worried because
Judge Noy had taken so strong a part in breaking crime. Hugh Bursard, planning
new radio broadcasts, could not afford to admit himself a dupe. Newell
Radbourne feared the double stigma that would come if the public knew that he
had twice yielded to the threats of Intimidation, Incorporated.
     Behind those individual reasons lay another need for silence. None of the
four dared to speak without the consent of the others. They were too jittery
to
hold a meeting to decide upon a common plan. Their best policy, for the
present,
was to avoid each other. All four were waiting for a break that might help
them
solve their unpleasant problem.
     Three were honest in that hope. They believed that the capture of Link
Delvo would clear the atmosphere. The fourth, however, held secret schemes of
his own. He hoped for some chance whereby he could pin the goods on Link
Delvo,
but leave no loopholes in the job.
     For that fourth man was actually Intimidation, Incorporated. His past was
covered; he wanted to keep the future hidden.
     Moreover, the master crook had another purpose. He wanted to cap his
series of successes by getting the two hundred thousand dollars that he
believed was in the possession of Link Delvo.
     That cash was trivial in comparison to the total already gained by
Intimidation, Incorporated; but the master crook was greedy. His racket was
finished earlier than he had expected. He was not content to lose a single
dollar that he had sought in the past.


     THERE was one person to whom all this was clear. He was a being who dwelt
secure in Dorchester on this eventful day. He was the master hand who had
actually turned victory to the law; the silent partner who had dictated every
measure taken by Judge Noy.
     Ten minutes after he had ended his role as Link Delvo, The Shadow had
reached Judge Noy's penthouse. It had taken him only five minutes more to
outline the strife that was to come. Through the judge's cooperation, The
Shadow had brought in the outside forces. His generalship lay behind every
move. In his day as Link Delvo, The Shadow had learned the insides of the
rackets. He had pointed out the spots where drives should be made.
     Crime had cracked more rapidly than The Shadow had expected. It had been
his plan to play a slower game; to put an increasing pressure on the master
crook who posed as Intimidation, Incorporated. By seeking to finish Link Delvo
early, the master crook had himself forced the issue. The Shadow had taken
charge. In one stroke, he had ruined a realm of crime.
     The way was clear for a direct meeting with the master criminal. Today,
The Shadow was mapping plans for the sensational finish.
     Circumstances offered a perfect opportunity. In considering Intimidation,
Incorporated, The Shadow made allowance for four men, instead of one.
Wrightley, Clewiss, Bursard and Radbourne were too closely linked to be taken
separately. One of the four was a crook; as evil a murderer as could be found
anywhere. Cornered, he would fight for every loophole. Exposed, he would try
to
drag down the three whom he had duped.
     The Shadow expressed this opinion to Judge Noy; with it, he outlined the
steps that could be taken. As a result, Judge Noy left the penthouse late in
the afternoon. He did not return; instead, he called up at six o'clock. The
Shadow, sole dweller in the penthouse, received the telephone call.


      IMMEDIATELY, The Shadow made a telephone call to the office of Mayor
Wrightley. Using a forced voice, he asked to speak to the mayor. When
Wrightley's voice came across the wire, The Shadow responded with a whiny tone
that bore a marked resemblance to the voice of Link Delvo. Mayor Wrightley
listened.
      The Shadow's next step was a message to Hugh Bursard. He scrawled it on a
sheet of paper, signed it Link Delvo. He put the message in an envelope; then
enclosed it in a larger one, which he addressed to Judge Noy, who was dining
at
the Dorchester House.
      The Shadow wedged the large envelope between the cracks of the elevator
door, then rang the bell and went back into the penthouse. He knew that the
message would be delivered immediately to Noy; that the jurist would send the
inner envelope to MXDO.
      Next in line was Elwood Clewiss. The Shadow knew of several places where
the lawyer might be. He made three calls; on the fourth, he talked to Clewiss.
Again, The Shadow spoke in the tone of Link Delvo, adding a whine for
emphasis.
      Donning cloak and hat, The Shadow went out to the elevators. He opened
the
doors at the right end of the line and stepped into an empty car that Judge
Noy,
at The Shadow's request, had ordered to be left on the penthouse level. The
Shadow operated the elevator and descended to the ground floor.
      Peering through the crack of the door, he saw that the regularly operated
elevator had gone upstairs. The Shadow glided from his car, closed the doors
and departed through the gathering outside dusk.
      From an obscure telephone booth, he sent a telegram to Newell Radbourne.
It was worded cagily; for signature, The Shadow gave the letter "D." The
telegram requested Radbourne to call the number of the obscure pay station
where The Shadow waited.
      In twenty minutes, there was a ring of the telephone bell. Radbourne was
on the wire.
      Once more, The Shadow talked in the fashion of Link Delvo. Radbourne
hesitated; then seemed encouraged by the whiny tone. Hanging up, The Shadow
went out into the night.
      Darkness had thickened; it was close to eight o'clock. Police cars were
everywhere; officers were looking into doorways, investigating stores where
shattered slot machines lay heaped in corners. Firemen were patrolling on
foot;
at strategic corners, trucks were waiting, ready to carry a dozen pursuers
should a new chase come. State police were riding past, watching suspected
hideouts from the darkened automobiles.
      The city was alive with men of the law, eager to pursue a single
fugitive.
Gliding from building to building, through passages and alleyways, The Shadow
threaded a course unseen. He was on his way to a final mission; he was
prepared
to give the law the opportunity it wanted to bag a public enemy.
      But the chase, when it came, would not be a pursuit of Link Delvo, the
big-shot who no longer existed. The law, when it moved to action, would be on
the trail of a master crook whose identity was not yet suspected.
     Tonight, the law would have its chance to capture the supercriminal who
called himself Intimidation, Incorporated.


     CHAPTER XVIII

     THE JUDGE DECREES

      DESPITE the intensity of the widespread search, there were certain
buildings in Dorchester that had undergone but one inspection. One of these
was
a small, but pretentious, apartment house called the Dorchester Arms.
      The Dorchester Arms had no doorman or elevator operators. It was a
four-story building, with elevators of the automatic type. The tenants were
all
persons of considerable wealth, for apartments were expensive at the Arms. The
building fronted upon a parklike square, the center of the most exclusive
district in Dorchester.
      Police had visited the Dorchester Arms to inspect some empty apartments.
Finding no hoodlums hiding there, they had crossed the Arms off their list.
      The name plate in the entry showed a vacancy in Apartment 2 A, which
faced
the park. That apartment was the best and highest priced in the building. It
was
furnished in elegant style, but had no tenant, for the rental was too high.
      Shortly after eight o'clock, there was a cautious rap at the door of 2 A.
Gaining no response, the visitor rapped again, then opened the door and peered
into the apartment. He saw a small entry; beyond it, a living room with three
doorways: two opening onto bedrooms; the third to a detached dining room.
      The living room was lighted by the mellow glow of floor lamps. The
visitor
entered and closed the door behind him. Stepping to the center of the living
room, he looked about in bold and challenging fashion. The light showed the
visitor's face. The arrival was Elwood Clewiss.
      The rugged-faced attorney became suddenly alert as he heard a sound from
a
doorway at the side of the room. He thrust his hand toward his hip, stood in
readiness as the door opened. Challenge changed to perplexity as Clewiss saw
the elderly man who stepped into the living room.
      The man whom Clewiss faced was Judge Hancock Noy!


     FOR an instant, Clewiss edged toward the outer door; then seemed to
realize that a hasty exit would gain him nothing. He eyed Judge Noy with new
challenge.
     "A frame-up, eh?" quizzed Clewiss, harshly. "You thought you could hook
me
up with Link Delvo, just because I fell for his threat. I guess you were
looking
me over pretty close, that day in the courtroom."
     "Not at all, Clewiss," returned Judge Noy, mildly. "I received a letter
also, on that particular day. We might say that you and I are in the same
boat."
     "You mean you heard from Delvo, too?"
     Judge Noy nodded; held up his hand.
     "We have another visitor," he said in a low tone. "I think that I hear
his
rap. Let us step into the side room, Clewiss."
     The lawyer shrugged his heavy shoulders and followed the judge into the
dining room. Behind the half-closed door, they listened. They heard the slow,
cautious stride of a man who entered. Noy nudged Clewiss. The pair stepped
into
the living room.
     The man who had entered was Newell Radbourne. For a moment, the financier
looked startled; then, angrily, he demanded:
     "What does this mean? Let me tell you, Judge Noy, there was no collusion
between Clewiss and myself, in regard to that patent case. If he has tried to
accuse me of conspiracy, he is doing it to cover his own fault."
     "Nothing of the sort, Radbourne," expressed Judge Noy, mildly. "Clewiss,
like yourself, came here to meet Delvo."
     Radbourne stared. Clewiss gave a short laugh.
     "That's right, Radbourne," said the lawyer. "Delvo called me up, a while
ago. He said that he wanted to give himself up to the law, but intended to do
it through an attorney. He wanted me to represent him. I thought it best to
come here, even though I do not intend to take his case."
     Clewiss spoke coldly, as though he doubted that Radbourne had sufficient
reason to be present. Radbourne decided to explain himself.
     "Delvo wired me," he stated. "I called the phone number that he gave. He
said that if I came here, I would find the two hundred thousand dollars that
was taken from me. It sounded queer, but so many odd things have occurred -"
     Judge Noy interrupted with a call for silence. The keen-eared jurist had
heard new footsteps in the hallway. He motioned Clewiss and Radbourne into the
bedrooms; he himself stepped back into the dining room. There were slow raps
at
the outer door; then came a new entrant.


     STEPPING into the living room, Noy, Clewiss and Radbourne surprised the
new arrival. The man who gaped at them was Jonathan Wrightley. For several
seconds, the bewhiskered mayor was completely at a loss; then he regained his
pompous air.
     "This is your work, Noy!" he exclaimed. "A trick, to ruin what little
reputation I have still maintained! You are trying to prove that I am
implicated with Link Delvo!"
     "None of us called you, mayor," responded Noy. "Perhaps you might
enlighten us on the matter."
     "I have nothing to cover," snapped Wrightley. "I offered a reward for the
capture of Link Delvo. He called me up and said that he did not want any
persons - 'lugs' was how he termed them - to collect the money that was
offered. On that account, he was willing to surrender himself if I came here
alone to meet him."
     "So you came," retorted Clewiss. "Funny how you managed to build up so
much nerve, Mr. Mayor."
     "Hardly astonishing," put in Radbourne, eying Clewiss. "You seem to have
gained unusual courage yourself."
     "What about yourself, Radbourne?"
     Before Clewiss could reply, Judge Noy intervened. He quieted the
argument,
listened intently, then whispered:
     "Perhaps there is some new visitor in the hall. Let us move out of sight
again. You come with me, Mayor Wrightley."
     Two minutes passed after the men were stationed. It appeared that Noy's
guess had been wrong. At last, there was a rap. Judge Noy had certainly
anticipated a visitor, although he had not heard one.
     The hidden men waited until the arrival reached the living room. Judge
Noy
stepped out; the others followed. They found Hugh Bursard staring in
amazement.
His hand was in his pocket; it relaxed when he recognized the faces.
     "I expected to find Link Delvo," he declared. "I must admit that I am
glad
to be disappointed."
     "What did you hear from Delvo?"
     The question came from Clewiss. Bursard was prompt to answer it.
     "There was a message for me at MXDO," he declared. "In it, Delvo told me
he was here. He said he wanted to see me, that he had news for the public and
wanted me to broadcast it this evening."
     Bursard pulled out his watch to check the time. His hand, a bit shaky
from
the tension he was under, let the timepiece slip to the floor. When he picked
it
up the face was smashed in.
     Bursard looked toward a mantel where a clock was ticking. It showed ten
minutes past eight.
     "I can get back to MXDO in ten minutes," he stated. "Since Delvo is not
here, I have time to tell you what he plans; at least, what I think he plans,
judging from his message. He knows that he is trapped; he wants to fight it
out
with the law. That is why he wanted me to announce by radio that he was
stationed here."
     "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Clewiss. "This begins to make sense. Do you
know what Delvo was after? He wanted to get three of us here, while Bursard
was
broadcasting. His idea was to bring in the police, to have them shoot us down
before they learned who we were."
     "Poor logic, Clewiss," objected Radbourne, dryly. "If that had been
Delvo's purpose, why did he ask Bursard here?"


     FOR a few moments all pondered. It was Judge Noy who ended the silence.
     "Delvo might have reason for desiring my death," remarked the jurist,
"but
why should he seek yours?"
      "I have offered a reward for his capture," returned Mayor Wrightley.
"Like
yourself, Judge Noy, I represent the law."
      "Is that the only reason?"
      Four men exchanged glances as they heard Noy's significant question.
Mayor
Wrightley shifted uneasily. Newell Radbourne chewed his lips. Elwood Clewiss
maintained a rigid stare. Hugh Bursard glanced at the clock. It showed fifteen
minutes after eight. Suddenly, he decided to answer Judge Noy's question.
      "The truth must come out," asserted Bursard. "I have only five minutes in
which to tell it, but the time is sufficient. All of us were threatened by
Intimidation, Incorporated; and we yielded. We threw the stadium contract to
the wrong company.
      "I am as much to blame as any one, even though I protested against
acceptance of the terms. I feel, though, that it is my duty to speak; to save
the others from the suspicion that lies upon them. There have been serious
crimes in Dorchester, such as the deaths of Ludwig Meldon and Sack Balban.
There was also the attack against you, Judge Noy, the night when Nobby Kilgan
was killed.
      "These men have kept silence because they might be implicated. They might
even be called upon to give alibis. That would be most difficult, for they
would have to account for their actions on various evenings. My position,
however, is most fortunate. On all the occasions mentioned, I was at MXDO,
delivering my usual broadcast.
      "Since I am free to speak, I have done so, Judge Noy. I believe in the
integrity of my three associates. I trust that you will accept my word for it,
when I declare that they were no more than helpless dupes."
     Bursard looked about the group in friendly fashion. No one criticized the
statements that he had made. The other committee men appeared relieved by
Bursard's declaration of the truth. With a smile, Bursard looked toward the
clock.
     "Twenty minutes after eight," he declared. "Just time for me to reach
MXDO. Fortunately, my address is already prepared." He brought a sheaf of
papers from a pocket. "But I must hasten, in order to reach the radio station
by half past eight."
     Bursard turned toward the door. As he did, Judge Noy stepped to the wall
and pressed his hand upon the switch of a small radio. In sharp tone, the
jurist spoke words that halted Bursard.
     "That clock is slow," declared Judge Noy. "It is already half past eight,
Mr. Bursard."
     With that, the judge clicked the switch. The voice of an announcer came
across the air, finishing an introduction. As listening men stared, there was
a
ten-second pause; then from the radio came a voice that they recognized
instantly.
     It was the same voice that had just finished speaking in this very room.
The voice of Hugh Bursard!


     THOUGH he stood silently in sight of the persons in the living room, Hugh
Bursard was speaking across the air, from his office in MXDO. The fact was
startling; it dumfounded all except Judge Noy.
     Bursard saw the gleam upon the jurist's face. He knew that Judge Noy had
learned the vital facts.
     With a snarl, Bursard shot his hand to his pocket; a gleam came from his
fingers as he whipped a revolver into view. Then, from behind him, came a
condemning laugh that drowned the false voice that issued from the radio.
Instinctively, Bursard spun about; his gun unraised.
     From a side alcove of the entry had stepped a black-garbed figure, whose
hidden lips had delivered the taunt that Bursard could not ignore. From a
gloved fist loomed an automatic; above the muzzle of the gun were eyes that
shone with penetrating gaze. Those eyes told the answer.
     The Shadow was here to deal with a master crook. He had trapped Hugh
Bursard, the supercriminal who had played the game of Intimidation,
Incorporated!


    CHAPTER XIX

    THE END OF CRIME

     NO accusing words were needed from The Shadow's lips. Hugh Bursard stood
condemned. His own voice, pouring from the radio, explained the details of his
methods. It told of the device that the master crook had used to insure
complete coverage when he dealt in murder.
     In planning the campaign of Intimidation, Incorporated, Bursard had known
that his threats must carry weight. Familiar with the city; friendly with men
of wealth; secretly keeping tabs on the racketeers who served Sack Balban,
Bursard had seen a clear track ahead, except for one point.
     Bursard had known that he would have to murder all men who defied his
threats, as well as those who might gain an inkling of his schemes. A lone
wolf, trusting no one as an equal, Bursard had arranged matters so that he
could murder on his own.
     His broadcasts at MXDO were designed as an alibi that would take all
suspicion from him between the hours of eight-thirty and nine. The Shadow had
divined that fact, a long while since, even before he had visited the radio
station. For The Shadow, in examining alibis, had seen that Bursard's was not
only the best, but one that could be used on any night required.
      The fact that Bursard broadcasted alone, from his own private office; the
special alarm dock, standing on the big recording machine in Bursard's own
headquarters - those fitted with The Shadow's theory. The Shadow had gained
practical proof that Bursard kept a supply of recorded speeches in readiness,
and could fix one to operate mechanically on any occasion when he might be
late
in reaching MXDO.
      Listening to Bursard on different occasions, The Shadow had noted the
murderer's mode of speeding up his speeches when he talked direct. Such was
not
the case with the recorded talks. Those canned replicas of Bursard's voice
were
delivered at the same rate throughout.
      Bursard knew that The Shadow had pieced the all-important details. His
glaring face showed his guilt. Once the law knew that Bursard had two-timed
with his programs on the air, excuses would be useless. Bursard's own alibi
brought suspicion straight upon him. He stood condemned in the sight of four
witnesses: Judge Noy and the other three men whom The Shadow had summoned
here.


      THERE was no plea in Bursard's gaze. The master criminal's face was
livid;
his only desire was to gain revenge upon The Shadow. That hope seemed far from
being possible. The muzzle of The Shadow's automatic told Bursard that death
would be his own lot if he started a wild break.
      Looking past Bursard, The Shadow saw the others. They understood the
gleam
of The Shadow's eyes. He was delivering Bursard to them, the men whom he had
injured and would have murdered had he needed.
      Elwood Clewiss thrust his hand to his hip pocket. The lawyer had come
armed to this meeting. Producing a revolver, Clewiss pressed it against the
center of Bursard's back. Bursard scowled; he let his own gun fall, then
brought his hands upward.
      The Shadow opened the outer door. The witnesses saw him step to the hall,
then suddenly wheel away. From the far end of the passage came a fusillade of
shots. They were too late to clip The Shadow, for he had seen the gunners
move.
      He began a swift barrage, as a half a dozen men surged toward him.
Wheeling to an opposite doorway, The Shadow brought out a fresh gun while he
jabbed shots with the one he already held.
      Bursard, though he had fallen for The Shadow's ruse, was not yet through.
He had come expecting to find Link Delvo alone, intending to murder the man
whom the law had branded as Intimidation, Incorporated. But Bursard had not
trusted to his own ability alone. He had managed to arrange the same
precautions that he had used on the night of his first murder.
      He had sent a password to hidden crooks, the remnants of the hordes that
the law had scattered. He had given them the word that they could have a
chance
at Link Delvo, the big-shot whom they had failed to get. Crooks, coming here
at
half past eight, had found an opportunity. Seeing The Shadow, whom they
classed
as their archenemy, they were forgetting all about their feud with Link Delvo.
      Hugh Bursard, staring toward the hall, saw a driving mass of men go past
the doorway. Shots were roaring from The Shadow's guns. Maddened crooks were
diving headlong, hitting the floor as bullets found them. Their own guns were
barking uselessly. The Shadow, deep in his doorway, was giving them no target
except the muzzle of a gun.
     With a wild shout, Bursard sprang for the hall, so suddenly that he left
Clewiss rooted. The lawyer opened fire too late; his shots whistled through
the
doorway after Bursard was gone.
     Clewiss found his legs and started in pursuit; the other witnesses came
close behind him. Reaching the doorway, Clewiss paused, anxious to aid The
Shadow. His help was not needed.
     Sprawled figures marked the path where crooks had surged. Only two had
reached The Shadow's doorway. The first was sagging from the slug of an
automatic. The Shadow was grappling the other, pressing him helpless to the
floor.
     Clewiss took after Bursard; so did Wrightley and Radbourne. Judge Noy
stood at the doorway, saw The Shadow down his final foe. The judge hurried
back
into the apartment, to telephone the alarm to the police.


     OUTSIDE the Dorchester Arms, Bursard was racing across the park fronting
it. Clewiss was a hundred feet behind him, firing shots that gained no effect.
Bursard dived into a coupe; while he was starting the motor, Clewiss reached
the car.
     Vainly, Clewiss tugged his trigger. His gun was empty. The coupe shot
away
as Clewiss reached the running board. The lawyer was spilled into the arms of
Wrightley and Radbourne.
     The mayor shouted to a taxi driver. He and his companions leaped aboard
and pointed after Bursard's car. The murderer was heading for MXDO; his
pursuers saw a chance to overtake him. Mayor Wrightley leaned from the window
of the speeding cab. Patrolling Policemen saw his arms waving, his whiskers
blowing in the breeze. They responded to the mayor's call. Other cars took up
the chase.
     At one corner, a fire truck clanged into action, with men clambering
aboard it. A deluge of cars was surging after Bursard. Other machines sped
into
view and joined the chase. Judge Noy's alarm had been received; the radio
patrol
was on the job.
     A longer run would have produced Bursard's capture; it happened that the
distance was too short to MXDO. The murderer arrived ahead of his pursuers.
Dashing into the special entrance, he found the elevator on the ground floor.
Entering it, Bursard told the operator to hurry him up to the radio station.
The operator obeyed; he thought that Bursard was merely anxious to reach the
broadcasting room.


     ON the top floor, consternation reigned when Bursard burst from the
elevator. A loud-speaker was still delivering Bursard's own voice, while
telephones were ringing with a call from headquarters.
     Dashing for the director's office, Bursard thrust his astonished
secretary
aside. With a key, he unlocked his private office, entered it and slammed the
door behind him.
     The elevator had descended to the ground floor, in response to the
insistent buzzing of the call bell. It came up again, bearing an assorted
throng. Mayor Wrightley dashed out, followed by Clewiss and Radbourne. Then
came two policemen, a trio of detectives, a pair of State police and a reserve
force of firemen. They followed Wrightley to the door of Bursard's office.
There they found the path blocked.
     One of the firemen had brought an ax, since he had no other weapon. He
stepped forward, delivered brawny strokes that shattered the thick panel of
Bursard's door. The barrier was hewed away. The fireman stepped back to let
the
others enter. They came with leveled guns, only to halt upon the threshold.
     Hugh Bursard was by the far wall. Near him was an opened safe, from which
he had dragged a large suitcase. The bag was bulging with the spoils that he
had gained as Intimidation, Incorporated - wealth in the form of actual bank
notes that could never be traced.
     In his right hand, Bursard gripped a blackish, rounded object: a bomb
that
he had provided for this last emergency. His hand was raised, ready for its
throw. Bursard was holding the pin by pressure alone.
     Pursuers stood aghast. Bullets were useless. Even if they dropped Bursard
where he stood, the bomb would explode. A "pineapple" of its size could wreck
the entire premises.
     In the corner, a slowly revolving record was broadcasting Bursard's
modulated voice; the well-chosen tones were sounding from the throat of a
loudspeaker. Chiming with them, came an ugly, fiendish laugh that issued from
the lips of the man himself. The contrast was hideous. The tones of the false
Bursard were a sham, when heard along with the real.
     No one moved. All expected Bursard to advance toward them, and they were
ready to let him pass. They did not know the surprise that the murderer had
for
them. It came when Bursard backed against the wall. Still holding his bomb,
Bursard calmly rested his suitcase on the floor and pressed a hidden button in
the panel behind him.
     A door slid open, showing a blackened passage beyond. It was Bursard's
secret avenue - the last detail in his chain of clever devices. Through this
passage in the office building, Bursard could go and come by an elevator to
the
street. It accounted for Bursard's ability to lock himself in the office
before
his broadcasts and be there afterward.


      THE glitter of Bursard's eyes was plain, as he raised his suitcase. The
killer stepped back toward the passage, ready for a sudden shift. It was then
that the pursuers realized their dilemma. Foolishly, they had lowered their
guns, hoping to curb Bursard's vengeful threat. Their mistaken move had put
them on the spot.
      A toss; a quick dive; a shove of the panel those were all that Bursard
needed. The bomb would be scaling toward the men who had come to get him. It
would blast them to atoms, while Bursard, beyond the panel, would be on his
way
to safety with his swag.
      In that last moment, Bursard cackled his elation, as his voice, emphatic
from the loud-speaker, delivered an ardent plea for the citizens of Dorchester
to end crime forever.
      Brave men turned as Bursard's hand started forward. They waited for the
death that they deemed certain. A strange sound made them stare anew. A new
tone was coming from somewhere beyond Bursard, a quivering laugh that carried
sinister mockery.
      Hugh Bursard was twisting, halfway through the opened panel. His right
hand was halted, fighting to wrench itself free of an unseen grasp. Blackness
spread over Bursard's hands; a gloved fist was pressing hard upon the
murderer's fingers.
      Bursard's hand relaxed. The bomb did not fall. Another hand had gained
it.
A powerful shove sent Bursard headlong from the opening, to fall upon the
floor
beside his desk.
     In the opening stood The Shadow, barely discernible in the light from the
office. He had come by the route that he had found before, that night when
Bursard wondered when Cranston had left the office and had taken it for
granted
that he had used the usual route.
     Coming upon Bursard, The Shadow had gripped the killer's hand with expert
clutch. His clamping fingers had squeezed Bursard's away. His powerful thumb
had retained pressure on the pin. The Shadow held the bomb intact.


      SLOWLY, the panel began its close. Savagely, Bursard came up from the
floor, to yank out a revolver that he had picked from his office desk. The
panel clicked shut. Wildly, Bursard turned about, hoping to shoot his way
through the shattered door.
      He never started that attempt. The men whose lives he had threatened were
standing ready for him.
      Police revolvers spat in unison. Hugh Bursard quivered, plunged sidewise
and rolled against the desk. His life ended with a last convulsion. As his
form
stilled, the voice from the loud-speaker gave a final word; then ceased.
      Hugh Bursard's last false-game had ended with the finish of his evil
life.


     IT was a solemn group that assembled shortly afterward in Judge Noy's
penthouse. Mayor Wrightley was there, sorting out the mass of wealth that had
been in Bursard's bag. Elwood Clewiss and Newell Radbourne were standing by,
watching the procedure.
     Judge Noy approached Radbourne, tendered him a bank book. Radbourne
showed
amazement when he saw a deposit, in his own name, to the amount of two hundred
thousand dollars. Radbourne spoke to Clewiss, showed him the proof of the
regained sum.
     "For Kroot," smiled Radbourne. "You won't have to appeal the case,
Clewiss."
     Mayor Wrightley turned wearily from his task. Judge Noy suggested a trip
to the roof above. They ascended the stairs; looking across the city from the
penthouse garden, they saw the Dorchester Arms. Beyond the building was the
park, totally deserted. Lights showed the glimmer of a small lake amid the
trees.
     Suddenly, a fountain rose high into the air. Bursting with the force of a
gusher, the sight resembled a mighty geyser that had spoken from an unexpected
spot. As sprayed mist settled upon the disturbed waters, the viewers
recognized
the cause.
     They had seen the finish of Bursard's bomb. As useless as the master
crook's schemes, it had been consigned to destruction where it could do no
harm. Subsiding ripples were marking the last record in the case of
Intimidation, Incorporated.
     From within distant trees came a chilling token of departure; a weird
laugh that rose to strident crescendo. Quivering, the mockery faded, like an
echo of the water's splash.
     The Shadow's triumph was complete.
     But from fading mockery the triumph laugh of The Shadow would swell back
in strident challenge, as the Master of Darkness heard the fateful words,
"Vengeance Is Mine!" His would be the task, in the future, to combat a
retribution as deep as the hatred in the black heart of a murderous killer!
     "Vengeance Is Mine!" was the cry that reached The Shadow.
THE END