THE DEVIL'S FEUD
                                by Maxwell Grant

       As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," June 15, 1942.


     CHAPTER I

     THE MAN WHO CAME BACK

     LIGHTS were glowing from the mansion on the hill - the first lights that
had gleamed from its windows for the past five years. Across the lawn that
spread among the trees, those lights formed fantastic streaks that seemed like
living things.
     Those streaks could have been the shadows of the trees that were weaving
constantly in the heavy wind. One patch of darkness, however, was imbued with
purpose. Steadily, with gliding progress, it moved toward the house, until,
close to the glow of a corner window, it became a solid shape.
     That shape was human, though many observers might have mistaken it for a
ghost. It formed a figure cloaked in black - a being whose eyes, hidden beneath
the brim of a slouch hat, caught the glow of the window lights and reflected
them with the burn of living coals.
     Curiously, only those who did not fear this black-clad being would have
mistaken him for a ghost. Those who really feared him would have recognized
him, had they seen him.
     He was The Shadow, master foe of crime; a human fighter dreaded by all men
of evil! To such, The Shadow was far more formidable than any spectral creature
of the night.
     Close to a corner window, The Shadow paused. His cloaked shoulder formed
an outline against the light, and a hawkish profile formed beneath the slouch
hat, as The Shadow's burning eyes peered through the window. There, as he
viewed the great hall of the mansion, The Shadow saw a solitary person.
     The lone man was Tukes, the old servant who had been with the Granmore
family since they first moved to this mansion, forty years ago. It was fitting
that Tukes, the faithful old retainer, should have reopened the mansion to
receive Foster Granmore upon his return from a five-year sojourn in the State
penitentiary.
     Since Tukes was alone, it was evident that Foster had not yet arrived.
Withdrawing from the window, The Shadow moved past a corner of the house, and
paused. Below the hill lay a glittering vista, a carpet of light that
represented the town of Venetia, plainly visible despite the wind-swept drizzle.
     Great puffs of flame rose suddenly from amid the valley. Reflecting
ruddily from the scudding clouds, the glare outlined the sprawling buildings of
a factory. That plant was the glass works owned by Weldorf, Granmore & Co., the
industry upon which the town of Venetia depended.
     As flames faded, The Shadow's keen eyes gazed across the valley to a
mansion that surmounted the opposite hill. It was lighted, like the Granmore
house, but even at this distance the other mansion looked more brilliant. Well
it might, for it was the home of the Weldorf family, whose name lacked the
smirch that had fallen upon the Granmores.
     Singular, the status of these two families who had once rated equally in
Venetia!
     Five years ago, old Daniel Weldorf, patriarch of his clan, had been
murdered in that distant mansion. His slayer was a masked robber, who had
rifled the Weldorf safe and taken bonds belonging to the company, valued at a
quarter million dollars. The bonds were registered; hence the murderer had
never been able to turn them into cash. For five years, both the killer and his
loot had remained undiscovered.
     Suspicion in the murder of Daniel Weldorf had rested briefly upon Foster
Granmore. Though most of the company records had disappeared with the bonds,
duplicates had been found, much to the disappointment of Foster. For those
duplicate records had shown a shortage in Foster's accounts, to the total of
forty thousand dollars.
     Foster had established an alibi in the matter of Daniel's death, but
vindictive members of the Weldorf family had forced the other issue, with the
result that Foster Granmore had gone to jail for embezzlement.
     These were the vital facts that brought The Shadow to the Granmore
mansion; these, plus the added point that tonight, Foster would return to the
old homestead.
     Like the missing bonds, the embezzled cash had never been found. In the
case of the cash, Foster Granmore could certainly provide the answer. Whether
it formed a link to murder, was a question to be answered by The Shadow!


     SKIRTING the Granmore grounds was a deep ravine, and from it, The Shadow
could hear the tumult of a raging creek. This was the rainy season, when
swollen streams became roaring torrents that swept out bridges and carried away
shacks built along their shores.
     The flood menace was heavy throughout this area, and The Shadow could
picture the appearance of the plunging creek from the sounds that issued from
the pitch-black ravine.
     Then came an added roar, deceptive at first, but plainer as it increased.
It was the motor of a large car, climbing the hill road that skirted the
ravine. Even before the headlights swung into the Granmore driveway, The Shadow
was gliding into the darkness that fronted the mansion. There, under cover of
low shrubbery, he continued toward the front door.
     Sweeping the bushes, the headlights failed to reveal the black cloaked
shape behind them. The big car stopped in front of the mansion. Hearing its
arrival, Tukes opened the front door, and the light showed the halted
limousine. From the big car stepped a dapper chauffeur, who opened the door to
let two passengers alight. The Shadow saw them plainly as they stepped toward
the house.
     One was Foster Granmore. He showed the traces of his years in prison. His
face, once full and florid, had become thin and was smeared with a sickly
pallor. His shoulders were bowed; he had the look of a wearied man. Indeed,
Foster Granmore seemed almost as old as Tukes, the stooped and wizened servant
who greeted him at the front door.
     The other arrival was Giles Mandon, general manager of the glass factory.
Mandon was a picture of middle-aged health. He was handsome, with his sleek
light hair and clear blue eyes; friendly eyes displayed sympathy as he ushered
Foster into the old homestead. Mandon's shoulders were erect, giving him a
military bearing.
     After turning Foster over to Tukes, Mandon swung about and spoke to his
chauffeur:
     "Wait here, Corbey. I shall be with you shortly."
     The front door closed behind Mandon, and darkness reigned anew. It was
darkness that suited The Shadow, for he moved directly to the front door. The
lights of Mandon's car were focused along the drive, hence they did not reveal
The Shadow as he reached the front door. Nor did Corbey, back at the wheel,
catch a glimpse of the gliding shape in black.
     It was because of Corbey that The Shadow worked the house door inward very
slowly, until he found just enough space to enter. In entering, he blocked off
the light completely, and he closed the door as he turned. The barrier came
shut so softly that Corbey hadn't an inkling of what happened.
     Within the great hall, The Shadow saw an open path ahead. Tukes had gone
back to the kitchen, and from another doorway The Shadow heard voices, giving
the location of Foster Granmore and Giles Mandon. They had left the door ajar,
in case they wanted to summon Tukes, so The Shadow took advantage of the matter.
     Reaching the partly opened door, he looked into a comfortable corner den,
where Foster and Mandon were chatting together.


     "THOUGHTFUL of Tukes," remarked Foster. "He even lighted the fire for me,
and here are my pipe and slippers. My favorite tobacco, too!" Leaning back in a
deep chair, Foster reached for the tobacco jar. "It's good to be home again. I
hope that people will leave me alone!"
     "I'm afraid they won't, Foster," declared Mandon, with a solemn headshake.
"At least, I know one person who is likely to visit you quite shortly."
     Foster's eyes narrowed into sharp beads. His next question came in a
snarled tone:
     "Do you mean Titus Weldorf?"
     Mandon nodded.
     "Titus is a fool!" snapped Foster. "So big a fool, that he still thinks I
killed his cousin Daniel! Well you can't expect too many brains in one family.
Old Daniel had them; Titus lacks them. I'll handle Titus Weldorf!"
     Again, Mandon shook his head.
     "That's just the trouble, Foster," he said. "You're not the man to handle
him."
     Foster's teeth bit the pipe stem with a savage click that rather proved
Mandon's point. At least, Mandon took it that way. He arose and laid a friendly
hand upon Foster's shoulder.
     "If Titus arrives," suggested Mandon, "tell Tukes to get in touch with me."
     "Very well," agreed Foster. "I'll send Tukes over to your house. He can
make it in less than ten minutes, by the path across the ravine."
     There was another headshake from Mandon.
     "The bridge went out today," he told Foster "so you can't send Tukes. Have
him phone me, and I'll come around by car. Besides" - Mandon's tone carried a
warning note - "Tukes should stay here, to witness what passes between you and
Titus. Titus is vindictive, Foster, and you are both hotheaded."
     Foster gave a shrug and reached for his slippers. At last, yielding to
Mandon's persuasion, he promised to follow instructions.
     As Mandon came from the den, The Shadow drew back into darkness, under an
old-fashioned stairway, and let the rugged man pass. Watching Mandon, The
Shadow saw him go out through the front door, which Tukes had come from the
kitchen to open.
     Remaining where he was, The Shadow heard Mandon's car pull away, and
watched Tukes go back to the kitchen. The Shadow preferred his present lurking
spot, for he knew that eyes were watching the hallway.
     Those eyes belonged to Foster and they were very sharp. They might even
have spied The Shadow, had Foster suspected that anyone was standing in the
shelter of the stairway.
     With Mandon and Tukes gone; Foster was quite sure that he was alone. He
started to close the door of the den, then decided against it, on the
supposition that he could certainly hear Tukes if the old servant came across
the hallway.
     As Foster retired into his den, The Shadow came from darkness and again
peered through the partly opened door.
     Showing unusual agility for a man wearied by prison life, Foster Granmore
was moving about the room, drawing the window shades right down to the sills.
That task finished, he hurried to the fireplace. There, he threw a quick glance
toward the door. Seeing only blackness beyond it, he supposed that the hall was
quite empty.
     His breath coming in eager gasps, Foster reached beneath the mantel and
began to turn an ornamental iron ring that was set in the stone.
     The heat from the fire bothered him. He withdrew his hands twice, rubbing
his fingers. Then, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket, Foster wrapped it
about his hand and resumed his operation.
     Finishing the turning of the ring, Foster gave it a pull. Instead of
coming free, the ring swung at an angle, bringing a small, square section of
the fireplace with it, on a hinge.
     Into the compartment thus revealed, Foster shoved an eager hand. His face,
reddened by the fire's glow, held a leer of satanic triumph. As plainly as
though he had spoken it, Foster's face was informing that he expected to
reclaim the spoils of crime.
     One point, alone, was in doubt. Foster's face did not tell whether he
merely wanted the forty thousand dollars that he had embezzled, or whether he
also counted on finding the quarter million in bonds that had disappeared with
the masked murderer who killed Daniel Weldorf.
     Whatever he wanted, Foster Granmore did not discover it. His hand, merely
nervous at first, became frantic. Stooping, he peered into the cavity beneath
the mantel; even struck a match to view its interior.
     Then with a snarl so vicious that any murderer would have envied it,
Foster swung about with both fists clenched. His face had lost its demoniac
leer; he was wearing the visage of a madman.
     Small wonder that Foster Granmore was the picture of a man crazed with
despair. In paying the penalty for crime, he had undergone the ordeal in the
confidence that he would retain the profits of his evil.
     Instead of wealth, Foster Granmore had gained a lesson that The Shadow
could have told him was his due.
     The lesson that crime did not pay!


     CHAPTER II

     DEATH FROM THE DARK

     WATCHING the face of Foster Granmore, The Shadow saw it run the gamut of
emotions. Rage replaced despair, only to weaken into misery. Then the desire
for revenge turned the man's face savage, until he realized that he did not
know the person upon whom his vengeance should be wreaked.
     Suddenly, a cunning glint came to Foster's beady eyes, and held itself
like a vulture's glare. Closing the aperture beneath the mantel, he screwed the
iron ring tight again.
     Foster Granmore intended to play smart. Some time, during the past five
years, someone had robbed him of his ill-gotten gain. When the robbery had
happened, who had perpetrated it, were things that Foster would make it his
future business to learn. His face was actually gloating, as though he relished
this challenge to his ownership of stolen funds.
     The Shadow could hear the sharp intake of Foster's breath - an indication
of the embezzler's eagerness to wage a new campaign.
     Around the old house, the wind wailed, as though it shared Foster's
disappointment and wanted to join his cause. It's shriek was a ghoulish whine,
and a gust, traveling down the chimney, stirred the firelight into wavering
tongues that licked upward, anew, in vengeful style.
     Then, as though the wind had already played its part, there came a sharp
clack-clack outside a window of the room.
     Turned from the fireplace, Foster cocked his head and listened shrewdly.
At first, he mistook the clatter for a loosened shutter; then he identified it
as an actual rap upon the pane beyond the lowered shade. Striding across the
den, he raised the shade and hoisted the sash. In with a surge of wind came a
sweep of rain that forced Foster to fling his arms in front of his face.
     As for The Shadow, he did quick work to prevent the door from slamming in
his face. Thrusting his foot into the door space, The Shadow stopped the
barrier as the wind caught it and drove it his way.
     When The Shadow looked again, a figure was clambering over the low sill.
Foster evidently knew the visitor, for he had admitted the man, and was closing
the window and drawing the shade again.
     The man who entered was muffled in a raincoat and wore a flabby gray hat.
He threw back the coat collar and removed the rain-soaked hat as he approached
the fire.
     There, the visitor turned, and The Shadow saw a face quite like Foster's
though it was younger and more robust. With a broad grin, the arrival spoke.
     "Well, Uncle Foster," he queried, "aren't you glad to receive a visit from
your favorite nephew?"
     "Considering that you are my only nephew," returned Foster testily, "I
suppose that you are entitled to the distinction, Ted. Nevertheless, I am not
accustomed to receiving visitors through the window. The front door is the
proper entrance."
     Ted Granmore's lips showed a none-too-pleasant curl. Then, smoothly, he
remarked:
     "Our business is confidential, Foster. I didn't care to have even Tukes
know about it. It concerns the sum of forty thousand dollars."
     Foster's eyes went hard, with a cold glint.
     "Come, come, Foster," chided Ted. "We Granmores must work together. You
have suffered, of course, from your stay in prison; but I have borne some of
the brunt. After all, the blemish on the Granmore name -"
     "Cut it short, Ted!" snapped Foster. "How much money do you want?"
     Ted shrugged.
     "About five thousand dollars," he decided. "It would settle some pressing
debts. I've already sold most of my stock in the glass factory, and I ought to
hang on to some of it just for family pride."
     Foster sneered at Ted's mention of "pride". Then, his expression hardening
again, Foster shook his head.
     "Sorry, Ted," he stated. "I had debts, too. Old ones. I embezzled the
forty thousand to cover them. It's all gone, years ago, before I went to
prison."
     There was disbelief in Ted's eyes. In his turn Foster studied his nephew
closely. The Shadow could understand Foster's gaze; the older man was trying to
guess whether his nephew had taken the money from its cache beneath the mantel.
At last, to break the tension, Foster spoke sarcastically.
     "I suppose you're wondering about the bonds that were stolen from old
Daniel Weldof," remarked Foster. "It would be like you, Ted, to think that I
took them, too."
     Ted gave a headshake.
     "I'm not sure that old Daniel ever had those bonds," he declared. "It
would be like a Weldorf, to frame something that would bring discredit to the
Granmores. Tell me, Foster: could Daniel Weldorf have known that you were
embezzling company funds?"
     "He might have, Ted."
     "Very well, my dear uncle. That would have given Daniel his opportunity to
obtain funds in a much bigger way. He could have disposed of the bonds then
faked a robbery -"
     "And let himself be murdered for his pains?" broke in Foster. "That
wouldn't be like Daniel Weldorf; nor, for that matter, like any Weldorf, not
even Titus -"


     THERE was another interruption - the ringing of the front doorbell. Coming
with Foster's mention of Titus, the bell was very apropos. Taking Ted's arm,
Foster Granmore pressed his nephew toward the window, at the same time hissing
in Ted's ear:
     "It's Titus Weldorf. Mandon told me to expect him. Get outside, and stay
there until Titus has gone!"
     The Shadow kept the door from slamming while Ted was going out the window.
By then, Tukes was admitting Titus Weldorf. Retiring to the space beneath the
stairway, The Shadow had a good look at Titus when the visitor went past.
     Titus Weldorf had a long, aristocratic face, with a high-bridged nose that
was probably a mark of his clan. Considering Titus as a specimen, the Weldorfs
were more imposing than the Granmores. But behind the haughty air of Titus lay
a certain shrewdness, quite as strong as any displayed by Foster Granmore or
his nephew, Ted.
     Upon receiving Titus Weldorf, Foster Granmore dismissed Tukes but left the
door half open. Foster had not forgotten Mandon's admonition to have Tukes
handy, in case of an altercation between himself and Titus. The admonition was
a solid one, for the two men lost no time in baring their antagonism.
     "I know why you've come here, Titus," opened Foster. "You want to talk
about a matter of forty thousand dollars. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm not in a
mood to discuss finances."
     "Then perhaps you will talk about murder!" retorted Titus, in a tone that
had the sharp cut of a knife. "I refer to the death of my cousin Daniel. You
can't have forgotten it, Foster. You remember other things that happened five
years ago."
     "I had an alibi at the time of Daniel's murder -"
     "So you did, Foster. You were with Giles Mandon shortly before it
happened. His testimony cleared you, but there is a chance that Mandon was
mistaken as to the exact time when you left him."
     Foster's fists tightened, then relaxed. He picked up a pipe that he had
filled, lighted it, and began to puff serenely. Then, coolly, he inquired:
     "Aren't you intimating that Mandon lied in my behalf, Titus?"
     "Not in the least," knifed Titus. "If he had, he wouldn't have produced
those duplicate accounts that branded you as an embezzler. Mandon is honest,
and an honest man can be fooled, to some extent, by a crook."
     Again, Foster's fists went tight. He bellowed savagely as he bounded
across the room, and The Shadow whipped away from the open door, back into the
space beneath the stairs. It wasn't necessary for The Shadow to mix in the
dispute, for old Tukes was coming across the hallway, attracted by the sound of
angry voices.
     Tukes arrived to find Titus backing through the doorway, away from
Foster's shaking fist. Seeing the servant, Foster calmed down immediately and
waved a hand toward the front door. Then, stiffly, he ordered:
     "Show Mr. Weldorf out, Tukes."
     Courteously, Tukes conducted Titus to the front door. There, Titus turned
and delivered a parting thrust.
     "Remember, Foster!" stormed Titus. "A man who will steal will commit
murder! It applies in your case, and I shall prove it! You will pay for the
death of my cousin Daniel!"
     Before Foster could give reply, Titus stepped through the doorway and was
swallowed by the drizzling darkness. The wind howled, as though endorsing the
words of Titus, and Foster gave a savage gesture, indicating for Tukes to close
the door, which the servant did. Anxiously, Tukes queried:
     "Shall I phone Mr. Mandon?"
     "Not yet, Tukes," Foster shook his head. "Wait in the kitchen. I shall
call when I need you."


     WAITING until Tukes had turned away, Foster went back into his corner
room. From Foster's manner, The Shadow could divine the man's exact purpose.
Foster had followed Mandon's admonition to have Tukes present as a witness when
Titus Weldorf arrived.
     But Tukes had only witnessed a portion of the altercation. Foster Granmore
had an even better witness close at hand: his nephew Ted, outside the window.
     Foster hadn't quite closed the window, nor had he fully drawn the shade.
He intended to admit Ted again and renew their own conference.
     There was a shrewd gleam upon Foster's face; he could foresee at least a
temporary alliance with his nephew. Granmore's both, their antagonism toward
the Weldorfs would unite them in a common cause. As for the suspicion that
showed on Foster's face, it had a new significance.
     Still thinking of the missing forty thousand dollars, Foster had begun to
believe that Ted Granmore wasn't the only man who might have garnered those
stolen funds. Titus Weldorf, with his show of indignation, might well be
covering a theft on his own part.
     At least, Foster had played smart throughout, for he hadn't given either
visitor an inkling that the funds were missing from the hiding place. As for
his coming campaign, Foster intended to play a Granmore against a Weldorf and
sit back to see what happened.
     Hearing Foster raise the window, The Shadow stepped forward from the
stairway and thrust the necessary foot into the doorway, to prevent the wind
from slamming the door. Through the crack he saw Foster leaning forward at the
window, his arm raised against the swirling rain. Foster's other hand was
moving forward to beckon Ted indoors.
     It was the same setting as before. A few moments more, and Ted Granmore
would be coming through the window to rejoin his uncle. The Shadow was
regarding the situation casually, despite the wail of the wind.
     The strident gale was striking a new note; it carried a banshee's wail, as
though some spirit of the outer reaches sought to voice a warning fraught with
death. Yet, even The Shadow did not regard that chance whine as an omen.
     Then came the stroke itself.
     From the doorway, The Shadow could see blackness as a background beyond
Foster Granmore. A background into which the pasty-faced man was leaning his
hand extended as in welcome. In return came something wholly unexpected.
     There was a stab from darkness - a tongue of flame that knifed upward,
straight for Foster's heart. The report that accompanied the burst was scarcely
audible, for the roar of the wind had a drowning effect. But there was no
mistaking the fiery stab. It issued from the muzzle of a gun.
     With that wind-drowned shot, Foster Granmore reeled back from the window,
swayed, and toppled forward, dead. The man who had paid the penalty for one
crime had become the victim of another. From the misery of a prison cell,
Foster Granmore had returned to the security of his old home, to meet with
death from the dark.
     Death from the dark, in the very presence of The Shadow!


     CHAPTER III

     THE DOUBLED TRAIL

     EVEN before Foster Granmore completed his sudden death stagger, The Shadow
was drawing a gun from beneath his cloak to start in the direction of the
murderer, outside the window.
     Briefly, The Shadow paused in the doorway, still part of the blackness
that pervaded it. He was waiting on the chance that the killer might appear at
the window to view his handiwork.
     When no face appeared, The Shadow was sure that the murderer had taken the
opposite course, that of flight. The delay was not too long to prevent The
Shadow from overtaking him. Any man who had delivered death so deliberately
would not be seized by panic. The Shadow was merely giving the killer
sufficient leeway to lull him into a sense of false security.
     Flinging the door wide, The Shadow sped across the room, cleared the dead
form on the floor and vaulted through the window, into outdoor darkness. So
swift was his action, that the incoming wind did not slam the door until The
Shadow had reached the ground outside. There, amid darkness, The Shadow heard
the door as it clapped shut.
     This window was near a rear corner of the house, which was the logical
direction in which the killer would have gone. Turning that direction, The
Shadow wheeled out from the house wall to gain a better angle for a swift
pursuit. Such little details as clipping corners came in very handy, in cases
like the present.
     This was one instance when such tactics proved handier than usual. So
handy, indeed, that they saved The Shadow's life.
     Scarcely had The Shadow veered out into the dark, before a gun spoke from
the house corner. It's stabs were straight at the spot where the cloaked
investigator had landed. Even from his present position, The Shadow could hear
the whine of bullets amid the higher shriek of the wind. Moreover, there was
double cunning on the part of the opposing marksman.
     So true was the fire that if The Shadow had taken a direct course to the
corner, be would have come straight into the path of bullets, to suffer the
same death that Foster Granmore had received at the window!
     Quick though The Shadow had been, when vaulting to the outside darkness,
the murderer must have glimpsed his arrival there. It would have been
impossible for anyone to identify The Shadow in such a passing glance; but
that, in itself, was a disadvantage. Whoever had killed Foster Granmore knew
that Tukes was about, and could therefore have mistaken The Shadow for the
faithful servant.
     True, Tukes was old, but he was loyal. Giles Mandon had admonished him to
take good care of Foster. As for the two men who had paid clandestine visits to
this mansion, both knew that Tukes was about. Ted Granmore had mentioned Tukes
by name; Titus Weldorf had seen the servant when Tukes admitted him to the
house. Both would have been on the lookout for Tukes, and The Shadow's rapid
vault could have passed for a tripping plunge of the sort that Tukes might have
made.
     On that basis, The Shadow halted where he was. Crouching in the darkness,
several yards from the house wall, he waited for the killer to steal back and
look for Tukes. During those fateful moments, The Shadow was considering the
parts that two men might have played.
     Ted Granmore had been outside his uncle's window when Foster had the
argument with Titus Weldorf. It would have been easy, very easy, for Ted simply
to wait and deliver the death shot when Foster came to the window.
     True, Ted had shown no inclinations toward murdering Foster earlier. But
he could have decided upon such a course after witnessing Titus's visit.
Assuming that Ted had taken Foster's hidden funds, he would have a motive for
eliminating his uncle. At very best, there was no love lost between the pair.
     And what could be more to a Granmore's liking than to commit a murder that
circumstance would pin upon a Weldorf?
     The Shadow answered that mental question by supplying another. The second
question was this:
     What could be more to the liking of a Weldorf than killing a Granmore for
sheer satisfaction?
     This new question put a different aspect on the case. Very plausibly, Ted
could have left the premises when Titus arrived. Noticing the partly opened
window, through which the wind had persistently whistled, Titus Weldorf might
very well have decided to thrust home the vengeance that he had promised.
     Calculating the time element, The Shadow decided definitely that Titus
could have rounded the house and stationed himself outside the den window,
hoping for a shot at Foster. If such were true, Foster had personally helped
the cause of his own death, by making himself the perfect target for a lurker.
     In his present mood, Titus Weldorf could hardly have resisted the
temptation to jab a bullet home, had Foster Granmore come his way so
conveniently. For Titus had displayed sincerity, when he accused Foster
Granmore of having murdered Daniel Weldorf. To Titus, Foster's steps toward the
window could well have seemed an action controlled by a guiding hand of Fate.
     The question of the killer would soon be decided.


     WAITING, The Shadow was watchful in the darkness, even though the grimy
gray of the house wall showed nothing against its surface. This night was as
pitch-black as any that The Shadow had ever experienced, and it gave other
prowlers the same coverage that he had.
     But below the window lay a square of light, coming from the room itself.
Foot by foot, The Shadow could picture the murderer moving toward that glowing
square. Given the slightest token of the man's arrival, The Shadow would be
ready for a devastating pounce.
     Then, when The Shadow was sure that opportunity was close at hand, a sound
came from within the room where Foster Granmore lay sprawled in death. It came
at a most untimely moment, during a lull in the howl of the wind. It was a
high-pitched cry of horror, that could only have been voiced by a faithful
servant like Tukes, upon finding the body of his dead master.
     The cry changed the entire situation. It told a murderer two things: that
Tukes was still alive and that the servant was not the person who had flung
himself so recklessly from the window. That cry was the equivalent of a signal
to the killer, telling him to resume his delayed flight!
     The Shadow took it as a signal for action. Swooping through the darkness,
he drove blindly through the drizzle, for a spot midway between the window and
the corner. As his shoulder hit the house wall, he turned squarely into the
arms of a scudding man who was coming the other way.
     It was The Shadow who was prepared for that sudden meeting. He clamped the
unknown man in a quick hold that forced the fellow's gun hand upward. They swung
full about, and The Shadow, keeping his full sense of direction, drove his
opponent against the house wall.
     But before The Shadow could follow that advantage by delivering a
full-fledged jolt, both he and his adversary were sprawling upon the slippery
turf under the impetus of another attacker, who had hurled himself from the
corner of the house!
     From then on, The Shadow was one of three, each man fighting for himself,
in a free-for-all battle where the wind whistled like a referee whose signals
were ignored.
     Guns were slugging hard against warding arms. No one was wasting shots
until he could find an opportunity to place them home, and such chances were
lost too rapidly to prove of use.
     So poor was the footing that a hard stroke with a gun tumbled the man who
gave it, whenever he missed his mark. Hands were clutching at feet, that kicked
them away. Guns clanked as they smacked the stone wall.
     Even The Shadow's swings were ineffective in this mad battle, until he
forced a double tangle with both of his opponents; then wresting one hand free,
he made a hard cross-slash in the dark.
     One man took the stroke and reeled. He must have warded it, partly, for
his flinging hand caught The Shadow, hoping to carry him along. The Shadow
followed with him, for the man's stagger was toward the lighted space beneath
the window.
     There, twisting free, The Shadow let his opponent skid against the wall.
He was sure that the fellow must be either Ted Granmore or Titus Weldorf, and
he wanted to see which, before dealing with the other fighter in the dark.
     The staggered man caught himself against the wall, and his face came into
the light. In that glimpse, The Shadow saw the pointed, half-pale features of
Ted Granmore. The fact pleased The Shadow, for he considered Ted a cooler hand
than Titus Weldorf. It would be easier to deal with Titus in the dark.
     In fact, the shots that were ripping from the direction of the corner had
all the frenzy that The Shadow attributed to Titus. They were wide, hopelessly
so, as they probed the blackness for The Shadow. They gave the impression that
the marksman was half dazed, and there was another reason for such a conclusion.
     Titus Weldorf would logically have blazed bullets at Ted Granmore, rather
than seek an impossible target in the night. Offsetting that was the
possibility that Titus might not have slain Foster Granmore, and therefore was
fighting only to save himself from an unknown attacker.


     THIS was no time to debate such points. Driving low, The Shadow cut in
toward the house wall, reversing his former tactics as he sought to reach the
corner. It wasn't Titus who spoiled his plan; the intervention came from Ted.
     No longer groggy, Ted was away from the light below the window, along the
wall toward the front of the house. He was starting to shoot on a line toward
the corner, aiming for the spurts he saw there, and The Shadow, unknown to Ted,
was wheeling right into that path of fire!
     One bullet, clipping stone from the house wall, ricocheted so close to The
Shadow's face that he could feel its breeze. Before the next shot came from
Ted's gun, The Shadow flung himself flat beside the wall. He heard Ted's
bullets whistle overhead; then came a sudden ending of the fire.
     Having blasted those few shots, Ted Granmore had turned and was dashing
for the front of the house, anxious to get away before someone clipped him in
the darkness.
     The Shadow made for the rear corner. Around it, he gave a few quick blinks
with a little flashlight, the sort that would serve as bait for Titus Weldorf.
However, there were no shots from the other fugitive, and The Shadow's only
course was to seek traces of the man who had fled past the corner.
     He found them when he swept the flashlight along the ground. There were
square-toed footprints in the mud, and the distance between them showed that
the fugitive had departed on the run.
     Tracing that route was a slow task. The footprints veered across the
grass, and had to be picked out among the shrubbery beds behind the house. The
Shadow came to a walk of flagstones, noticed dabs of mud upon the stones.
Farther along, he found where the running footprints left it.
     Then came a path through some trees, with traces of flight along the way,
but The Shadow lost the trail at a point where the path forked. No longer did
he have a chance of overtaking the fugitive. Even a runner of Titus's type
could by this time have gotten a full five-minute lead.
     All that The Shadow hoped to learn was where the trail led. When he found
out, he regretted that he hadn't picked the route more rapidly.
     The footprints stopped abruptly beside the deep ravine that flanked the
Granmore estate. The ravine wasn't more than thirty feet across, but its sides
were very sheer. There, The Shadow saw a thing that Giles Mandon had mentioned
to Foster Granmore; something that Titus Weldorf couldn't have known about.
     On each side of the ravine were the narrow abutments of a footbridge, but
nothing lay between them. Mandon had mentioned that the flooded creek had
carried away that bridge this afternoon. Turning his flashlight downward, The
Shadow saw the wooden planking of the bridge dangling in the thundering creek,
a dozen yards below.
     A low laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. He probed the bank of the
ravine with his flashlight, searching for more footprints. He found them, going
away from the ravine, but they weren't following the path back to the house.
     They showed long strides, those square-toed imprints, along another path
through the trees. From its direction, The Shadow calculated that this trail
would take him directly to a spot somewhere along the driveway in front of the
Granmore mansion.
     Using the flashlight only for direction, The Shadow started on the run.
But before he could reach the drive, he heard the sound of a departing car,
followed immediately by the starting of another motor from some other spot
along the drive. One car stood for Ted Granmore, the other for Titus Weldorf.
     Whatever the part that each had played in crime, both were escaping,
leaving The Shadow only a broken trail. The throbs of those motors, flung back
by the furious wind, were a mockery directed to The Shadow. His laugh however,
carried an acceptance of any challenge that a murderer might offer.
     To the facts that he had already gained, The Shadow would add more, until
he could place full blame upon the man who had slain Foster Granmore!


     CHAPTER IV

     WANTED FOR MURDER

     INSTEAD of continuing a useless chase to the distant driveway, The Shadow
turned and retraced his own course. Using the small but powerful flashlight, he
probed for his own footprints, and effaced them.
     The task was simple, considering the muddy condition of the ground. Mere
shuffling could permanently eradicate any of the unwanted tracks. But at no
place did The Shadow disturb those square-toed marks that the man ahead of him
had made.
     Pausing by the ravine, The Shadow heard occasional crackles below, as the
roaring creek tore away more fragments of the demolished footbridge. Detouring
along the gorge, The Shadow made quite sure that there was no route across it.
     Working back to the Granmore mansion, he finished disposing of the
occasional tracks that represented his own dash in pursuit of a man who might
have been a murderer.
     In his reflections, The Shadow still clung to that term "might", for his
observations of Titus Weldorf and Ted Granmore had convinced him that one was
equally as good a candidate as the other for the stigma that belonged to a
murderer. Motives, in this case, could go far deeper than the surface showed,
and The Shadow was reserving his decision for the future.
     Coming around the house, The Shadow found the spot where he had tussled
with two foemen. Here, the grass was thick and, accordingly, footprints were
absent. Ted Granmore, at least, had shown excellent judgment in running to the
front of the house. Along that route, The Shadow failed to find a single
incriminating trace, a fact that placed a new complexion on the case.
     Though Titus Weldorf might have had a stronger motive for murder than Ted
Granmore, the latter, from start to finish, had possessed a better opportunity,
and had certainly managed to cover his presence, as far as he was able. Except
for the dead man, Foster Granmore, only The Shadow had seen Ted peer in through
the window. Recollection of that fact caused The Shadow to pause and do the same.
     Inside the room, Foster's body was still coiled upon the floor. There was
no sign of Tukes; in fact, the door of the room was closed. From the gusts of
wind that whistled past him, The Shadow assumed that Tukes must have hurried
out to the telephone and that the wind had slapped the door shut.
     Having no present need to enter the room, The Shadow skirted to the front
of the house.
     There, he noted that the thick grass fringed right to the gravel. Neither
Ted nor Titus had parked their cars along the drive, for it was in very poor
condition, after years of disuse.
     Mandon's chauffeur, Corbey, had used the drive because the limousine was
bringing Foster home, but remembering that the big car had taken several
bounces, The Shadow considered it logical that other cars would have avoided
the drive.
     Doubtless Ted and Titus had parked at different spots along the lone road
that ran up to the hill top, and Ted, at least, must have taken advantage of a
turnout, where he could have left his car unnoticed.
     But these were matters for future consideration. For the present, The
Shadow was interested in Tukes.


     REACHING the front door, The Shadow opened it gradually and saw Tukes
standing in the hallway.
     Nervously, the servant was trying to get a number on the telephone, though
he had certainly had time enough to make a dozen calls while The Shadow was away
from the house. As The Shadow listened the call came through.
     "Hello! Hello!..." Tukes showed a quaver in his voice. "I must talk to Mr.
Mandon... Yes, I know he has guests and is very busy. But tell him that Tukes is
calling; that I've been trying to get him, but the line was busy... Yes, very
urgent..."
     All the while that Tukes talked, The Shadow was leaning well within the
door, straining to catch the wavery words above the obligato of the tempestuous
wind. The outside noise was a dull, varying roar, its changes difficult to
distinguish while The Shadow's hearing was concentrated elsewhere.
     This time, when the thrumm of motors came, the sounds failed to reach The
Shadow.
     Instead, lights reached him.
     They came with a sweeping glare, from the curve of the driveway, the
lights of three approaching cars. Striking the front of the mansion, the
flooding glow outlined the doorway and the figure of The Shadow within it.
     Instead, lights reached him. Noting that he was caught flat-footed, he
recognized, also, that a dash through the house, while offering escape, would
probably be seen by Tukes.
     The old servant had witnessed enough for one evening. The Shadow didn't
want his testimony to be clouded by the factor of a black-cloaked intruder
running at large through the mansion. It was better to risk an outside
encounter, on the chance that these newcomers might fail to observe The Shadow
at close enough range to describe him properly.
     On that basis, The Shadow wheeled from the doorway, took a flinging leap
across some shrubs and struck the gravel of the drive. His leap carried him
from the angled slant of the first car's headlight, but as luck had it, the car
swerved and picked up another view of The Shadow landing form. Catching his
footing, The Shadow was off with a long bound, just as the car's front wheels
struck a hole in the road.
     This time, the break was in The Shadow's favor.
     Not only did the lights lose him when the car jounced; guns that blasted
from the vehicle were wide in their fire, which was particularly fortunate,
considering that the marksmen were blazing with shotguns, weapons that could
easily have clipped The Shadow with their spraying fire.
     Unquestionably, the men in the arriving cars represented the local
authorities. Tukes must have phoned them, after his first call to Mandon
produced a busy line. They were stopping their cars, spreading them, so that
headlights gave a full view of the lawn. Men were piling out, and revolvers
were barking along with the boom of shotguns.
     They were shooting at nothing.
     The Shadow had taken another long stride, and was making more of them. Not
that the country sheriff and his deputies didn't expect him to keep on the run,
and were making due allowance; their trouble was that The Shadow had tricked
them.
     With the first sound of the guns, he had pivoted on one heel and was
reversing his direction. With utmost speed, the cloaked fighter was springing
back to the shelter of the house.
     No chance to reach the front door. Tukes was there, attracted by the
gunfire, and some of the deputies were joining him. There were a dozen in the
pack, and when they didn't see The Shadow, they guessed the course that he had
taken. They aimed for the low-clumped shrubbery and raked it with their fire.
     Again they failed to wing The Shadow.
     He'd wheeled among the bushes toward the corner of the house. He was
around it when the guns talked. These men from Venetia were accurate enough in
their fire, but they were too deliberate in aim. They couldn't keep up with the
speedy locomotion of The Shadow.


     THOUGH he was out of the bushes, The Shadow wasn't out of trouble. He
could tell from the shouts following the gunfire that the deputies were
deploying in all directions. The Shadow had two choices: one, to cut around the
house; the other, to reverse his course. Between those lay another prospect that
could not be termed a choice at all: the brink of the ravine.
     The Shadow took both choices. Cutting around the house, he came right into
the glow of flashlights, which showed some of the deputies in their reflection.
The Shadow saw a man he wanted; one who carried a shotgun.
     He sprang for the fellow, sure that he could jump the clumsy gun before
the deputy had a chance to aim it. There was a chance, too, that the man had
already used both barrels - in which case, The Shadow's course would prove
doubly safe.
     Both counts came through.
     At sight of the lunging shape in black, the deputy dropped back and tried
to swing the butt end of the gun, proving that it was empty. The Shadow caught
the weapon, twisted it so suddenly that its owner hadn't time to let go. As the
man spilled to the turf, The Shadow wrenched the shotgun away and flung it at
the other deputies.
     Revolvers fired wide as marksmen ducked. Flashlights, coming back to
focus, gave one a fleeting sight of The Shadow, heading back the way that he
had come, toward the front of the mansion. His cloak streaming in the wind, The
Shadow looked more like a marauding ghost than a human fighter. Like a ghost, he
vanished at the corner of the house.
     Amazing, that disappearance. The Shadow accomplished it a mere second
before flashlights blazed from the opposite direction. Men were coming from the
front, attracted by the gunfire at the back. They, too, caught an evanescent
view of The Shadow and thought that he had retraced his course. There could
only be one result from such a situation, and it came.
     Two squads of deputies met at the corner, in a first-class tangle. By the
time they had finished clawing for a wraithlike figure in a black cloak, they
found that they had been tearing at each other. There wasn't any trace of The
Shadow. He'd gone so completely, that the deputies wondered if there ever had
been a Shadow.
     There had been a Shadow, and there still was. At the corner, he'd turned
and bounded off at an angle, covering half a dozen yards during that important
second when no lights were upon him.
     The Shadow was at the brink of the ravine by this time, and he waited
there, knowing it was the one place where no one would search for him. Soon,
the deputies would give up the search and go into the house. When they did, The
Shadow would be free to depart.
     While he waited, The Shadow looked toward the valley below. The drizzle
was over and the lights of Venetia were much clearer than before. But The
Shadow was more interested in the lights atop a distant hill, above the puffs
of flame that represented factory chimneys.
     Those lights belonged to the Weldorf mansion; as The Shadow watched, he
saw the lights of a car crawling up the road to that house on the other hill.
That car belonged to Titus Weldorf; he was returning home after his visit to
Foster Granmore.
     As for Ted Granmore, who had secretly dropped by to see his uncle Foster,
there was no way of spotting his car from this elevation, because Ted was
living down in the town and had by this time shuffled himself into its traffic.
     A soft laugh stirred among the alders that fringed the deep ravine. The
whispered laugh of The Shadow told that he had not forgotten the men who had
visited the Granmore mansion.
     The murder of Foster Granmore and the theft of the dead man's illicit
funds were problems that The Shadow still considered far more pressing than any
of his own!


     CHAPTER V

     ONE MAN'S VERSION

     LIKE the Weldorfs and the Granmores, Giles Mandon owned a house upon a
hill. Mandon's residence, however, in no way rivaled the two traditional
mansions that had so long dominated the town of Venetia.
     Mandon's house was located close to the Granmore mansion. In fact, its
hill could be termed a knob, or portion, of the larger Granmore hill. The
reason why it was regarded as a separate slope was because of the ravine that
gutted between the higher elevation and the lesser rise where Mandon lived.
     Getting up to Mandon's wasn't difficult, because the slope was fairly
gentle. However, it was a long trip around by road from the Granmore mansion, a
matter of twenty minutes or more, considering the wayward-twists of the ravine,
that took the road from Granmore hill clear beyond the outskirts of Venetia.
     In The Shadow's case, the trip required half an hour. He'd left his car a
full mile down the road, parked in a clump of woods opposite the ravine. In
addition, The Shadow had to dispose of his rain-soaked cloak, and change to a
dry pair of shoes that showed no traces of the muddy ground that lined the
ravine.
     All this done, The Shadow drove to Mandon's house, to join the party as an
uninvited guest.
     Cars galore were parked in front of Mandon's sizable but simple house.
Most of the party guests had arrived ahead of The Shadow. Alighting from his
car, The Shadow strolled up to the lighted front porch, a different personality
entirely than the ghostly creature who had played hide-and-seek with the
sheriff's men.
     In his present guise, The Shadow was a tall man who wore evening clothes
as though he had been molded to fit them. His manner was leisurely, his face
very calm. So calm were those features, that they were almost masklike, and
people usually remembered them because of their hawkish profile.
     The Shadow's present face happened to belong to a gentleman named Lamont
Cranston, whose name commanded respect and attention because Cranston was
reputed to be a multi-millionaire.
     Announcing his name to the servant who answered the door, Cranston was
ushered into a little reception room, from which he saw and heard the guests
who had come to Mandon's party. He observed Giles Mandon among them, and
watched the gleam that came to the man's clear eyes when the servant announced
the name of the uninvited guest.
     Hurrying into the reception room, his handsome face aglow with a smile,
Mandon extended a hearty handshake to Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow.
     "A pleasure, Mr. Cranston!" exclaimed Mandon. "If I'd known that you were
coming to Venetia so soon -"
     "I appear to have come too soon," interposed Cranston, in a calm tone. "I
wouldn't care to interfere with your party."
     Mandon shook his head.
     "You won't interfere, at all!" He paused, his face becoming grim. "Your
interruption is slight, compared to one that just occurred." Mandon looked
about, noted that no guests were near. Then, confidentially, he questioned:
"You've heard of Foster Granmore?"
     Cranston nodded.
     "Only half an hour ago," informed Mandon, in a low tone, "I learned that
poor Foster had just been murdered!"
     Cranston's face retained its calm expression as he inquired, in
matter-of-fact style:
     "He was murdered in prison?"
     "No, no," returned Mandon. "I suppose you haven't heard. Foster was
released today, and came back to Venetia. I met him at the station and took him
to his house. I couldn't possibly invite him here; anyway, I knew he would
prefer to be alone. I felt that of all places, he would be safest in his own
home. But, apparently -"
     Mandon shrugged, and his lips went tight. He didn't care to pursue the
subject further, since it would involve the name of Titus Weldorf. Turning to
conduct Cranston into the other room, Mandon confided:
     "I shall have to go over to the Granmore house, to talk to the sheriff. He
said there was no rush, that there was nothing that I could do. However, I think
it would be best if I should see the scene first hand. Rather than spoil the
evening's party, I do not intend to mention the tragedy to my guests until they
are leaving. I trust that you will keep the matter to yourself, Mr. Cranston."


     RECEIVING a nod from Cranston, Mandon proceeded to introduce the new guest
to the earlier arrivals, explaining that Mr. Cranston was from New York. This
created much interest, especially when Cranston mentioned that he had driven in
by car.
     Floods had rendered many roads impassible in the vicinity of Venetia, and
everyone wanted to hear of Cranston's experiences with detours, and hazards
such as fallen trees and washed-out bridges.
     The description that Cranston gave actually dated back to early afternoon,
because he had foreseen delay in reaching Venetia, and had therefore started
early from New York around noon. However, he conveyed the expression that he
had left New York around noon, with no expectation of trouble on the way. As a
result, he couldn't have reached Venetia until well after dark.
     All this was for the benefit of Giles Mandon, who was an interested
listener. Since Mandon, was going to the Granmore mansion to see the sheriff,
it was a good idea to talk of detours on the way to Venetia. Cranston wanted to
make it evident that he couldn't have had time for an extra detour near the town
itself; namely, the trip up the hill to the Granmore house, and down again.
     In brief, The Shadow, as Cranston, was disassociating himself from the
black-cloaked prowler that Mandon would certainly hear about when he talked
with the country sheriff. This wasn't difficult, considering that Mandon had
expected Cranston to arrive in Venetia.
     For a month or more, Cranston had been writing Mandon, asking if any stock
in the glass company was for sale. Always a wise investor, Cranston wanted to
buy some share's in Weldorf, Granmore, & Co.
     Mandon had replied that no stock was available at present, but that shares
might be offered later. So Cranston had announced his intention of coming to
Venetia for a personal interview with Mandon.
     Perhaps the shares that Mandon had mentioned were those belonging to
Foster Granmore, whose return from prison was the real cause of The Shadow's
visit to Venetia. At least, Mandon's mind must have returned to Foster's case,
for Cranston saw his host glance at his watch, then quietly excuse himself.
     Corbey was waiting in the reception room, and sight of the chauffeur told
Cranston that Mandon was going to drive around by the long road.
     Then, just as Cranston was resigning himself for a wait until Mandon
returned, there was an interruption. At the outer door of the reception room,
Ted Granmore pressed into sight and pleaded with Mandon to wait.
     Glancing through the reception room, Cranston saw Mandon gesture as though
to conduct Ted in to meet the guests; but Ted shook his head ardently.
Dismissing Corbey, Mandon led Ted deeper into the house, avoiding the room
where the party guests were.
     By then, Cranston had finished talking about his trip. In his quiet
fashion, he let others monopolize the conversation. Stepping away, Cranston
stopped by a curtained doorway; then, the moment that he was no longer noticed,
he performed a glide worthy of The Shadow.
     Through the curtains, he found himself in a hallway, with a doorway at the
other end. Assuming it to be the room where Mandon had taken Ted, Cranston
approached in The Shadow's noiseless style.
     A twist of the door handle, an easing of the door itself, and The Shadow
was looking into a study where Giles Mandon was seated at a desk, listening to
Ted Granmore. Mandon was deeply concentrated, and Ted was busy talking; hence
neither realized that The Shadow, in the person of Cranston, was viewing their
conference.


     "SO you learned about Foster from Tukes and the sheriff," Ted was saying.
"They don't know who killed Foster. Well, I do, Mandon, because I was there!"
     Mandon's clear eyes shone quizzically.
     "Titus Weldorf is the murderer!" emphasized Ted. "He sneaked around by
Foster's window and shot him right through the heart!"
     Mandon shook his head.
     "I think you're wrong, Ted," he said. "Tukes says that he showed Titus
out, and that he went to his car."
     "Maybe Tukes thinks he did," snapped Ted, "but it was too dark for him to
be sure. Anyway, I ran into Titus when I went back to the window. I'd used the
window to get in to see Foster. I didn't want Tukes to know I was calling on my
dear uncle."
     This time, Mandon's eyes narrowed. For the moment, he seemed to be
picturing Ted as the actual murderer. Then, his show of suspicion fading, he
remarked:
     "The sheriff spoke of a mysterious prowler around the place. You might
have run into him and mistaken him for Titus."
     "I ran into both of them!" asserted Ted. "That's how I know Titus was in
it. This business of an unknown prowler only accounts for one person roaming
the premises. There were two, I tell you, because I tackled both of them!"
     "Odd you couldn't hold onto Titus," observed Mandon. "I wouldn't credit
him with being much of a fighter."
     "He wasn't. He got away while I was milling with the other fellow."
     "And the other man?"
     "He chased after Titus," replied Ted. "I fired a few shots after him, but
I couldn't wing him."
     Again Mandon's eyes went narrow, and Ted understood. He gave a short laugh.
     "Yes, I had a gun," said Ted. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he
displayed the revolver in question. "Don't worry, Mandon." Ted shoved the
weapon across the desk. "It isn't the gun that killed Foster."
     Withdrawing his hand as from a hot stove, Mandon finally acquired nerve
and reached for the revolver. As he did, he remarked:
     "I'll turn this in to the sheriff Ted -"
     "No, you won't!" Interrupting, Ted sped his hand for the revolver. "Why
should I muddle the issue? If Titus knows I was at Foster's, he'll try to toss
blame my way. I don't want him to learn that I was around there."
     As Mandon debated the question, Ted added further argument.
     "You know I didn't kill Foster," declared Ted. "I wouldn't have come here,
if I had. I'm letting you in on facts, Mandon, because you're the one man I can
trust. You're impartial, and you wouldn't favor a Weldorf over a Granmore. Keep
that gun for me, and say nothing about it, for the present."
     "Why do you want me to keep it, Ted?"
     "To prevent murder!" Ted's tone was hard; his eyes showed a glower. "If I
still have it when I meet Titus, I'll shoot him point-blank, like he did with
Foster!"


     IMPRESSED by Ted's savagery, Mandon decided to keep the revolver. He rose
from his desk, turned to the wall, and opened a fair-sized safe, his shoulders
hiding the dials as he worked the combination. Tossing the revolver into the
safe, he slammed the door and twirled the knobs.
     "Corbey is driving me over to Foster's," said Mandon. "Do you want to wait
here until I return, Ted?"
     Ted shook his head.
     "I have my car out front," he said. "I'll drive back to my apartment."
Rising, he was half turned to the door, when he paused and asked: "Why are you
driving to Foster's? You could walk there in five minutes by the path over the
ravine."
     "No longer," replied Mandon. "The flood carried away the footbridge, this
afternoon. The road is the only way to get to Foster's."
     The Shadow saw a shrewd expression flicker on Ted's face and knew that the
young man was thinking of Titus Weldorf, wondering if the latter had encountered
trouble after leaving the Granmore mansion.
     However, Ted offered no comment, and The Shadow had no time to study him
further. Ted was turning toward the door, along with Mandon, when The Shadow
inched it shut.
     A few swift strides, and The Shadow was through the curtained doorway,
idling there in Cranston's casual fashion, when the two men came from the study
and took the short route to the front door, to reach their respective cars,
outside. Neither saw Cranston, nor could they have heard the soft laugh that
came from his lips, for it was no louder than a whisper.
     The Shadow had heard one man's version of murder. As to the truth of the
story that Ted Granmore told, The Shadow was reserving final decision until he
heard a further account of the same crime, from the lips of Titus Weldorf!


     CHAPTER VI

     GUILT UNPROVEN

     UNDER the glow of the late morning sun, cars were stopping in front of the
Granmore mansion. Daylight and the passing of the storm had brought a huge
change to the scene upon the hill. No longer was the old stone house a
forbidding place, bulking weirdly amid the wailing wind. It had the outward
semblance of a quiet, friendly homestead.
     Yet, to those who saw it and knew its recent history, the old mansion
seemed to harbor doom. Here, Foster Granmore had returned to receive a welcome
in the form of death, and these very visitors had come to seek some clue to the
unknown murderer responsible for the crime.
     The sheriff, the coroner, and other assorted officials were in the party.
Along with them had come Ted Granmore, nearest of kin to his deceased uncle
Foster. Another member of the party was Titus Weldorf, who, whether he liked it
or not, had been a business associate of Foster Granmore.
     Giles Mandon was also present, not only as the active head of Weldorf,
Granmore, & Co. but because he was the one man who could cool any friction
between Ted and Titus.
     Along with Mandon had come a stranger, a gentleman named Lamont Cranston,
who had very conveniently managed to be in Mandon's office at the time the
sheriff called.
     Old Tukes was still in the house. In solemn fashion, the servant repeated
his story. He told of Titus coming to the house, and mentioned that the visitor
had exchanged harsh words with Foster. Walking to the front door, Tukes gestured
outside to indicate Titus's departure to his car.
     Then, walking toward the kitchen, Tukes paused and gave a graphic
illustration of a man hearing a gunshot. He dashed creakily to Foster's den,
stopped on the threshold, and pointed to the spot where he had seen the body.
     The sheriff, a beetle-browed man named Clemming, next turned his attention
to Titus Weldorf. He asked if Titus had gone directly to his car, and Titus
answered him with a blunt yes. More than that, Titus led the way out the front
door, to show exactly where he had left his car, below the foot of the driveway.
     "I took much longer last night," explained Titus during the move. "Very
much longer. I remember stumbling about here" - he pointed to a hole in the
drive - "and after that, I was more careful. Besides, I had trouble finding my
car when I reached the road. Very foolishly, I had turned the lights off."
     The sheriff asked why Titus hadn't foreseen such trouble, and Titus
explained that the lights in the house had deceived him into thinking that
there would be no difficulty. It was mention of that point that helped Titus
pick the spot where he had left his car.
     It was a short distance up the road, and from it, when Titus pointed, the
others saw that the house was in sight, a few hundred yards away. A slight
intervening rise of ground gave the illusion that the house was much closer.
     It was the coroner who put the next question. He wanted to know if Titus
had heard any shots. Titus not only shook his head; he remarked that the wind
had been against him on the return trip, making it impossible for him to hear
anything that happened around the far corner of the house.
     All the while, The Shadow was watching Ted Granmore, whose lips wore a
scoffing curl. Not knowing that Cranston's eyes were upon him, Ted let his
expression widen into an actual sneer. Oddly, it wasn't meant for Titus
Weldorf. Ted was thinking in terms of the sheriff and the coroner.
     Time was when the names of Weldorf and Granmore were both above suspicion
in Venetia. Five years ago, Foster Granmore had ruined the reputation of his
family by his embezzlement of company funds. But the tradition still existed,
in the case of the Weldorfs. To even suggest that Titus Weldorf might be lying
would be in the nature of a crime, itself.
     As the group moved away, Ted reached out and gripped Mandon's arm as the
latter passed him. Thinking that Cranston was out of earshot, Ted undertoned:
     "Do you see? We'd have to prove Titus guilty, before these hick officials
would make a move. They're Weldorf men, both! All Granmores are jailbirds, in
their estimate!"


     TED said no more, even though he was sure that Cranston couldn't hear him,
a point on which Ted was mistaken.
     However, Mandon was nodding soberly as he and Ted overtook Cranston, and
The Shadow knew that Mandon was actually considering a point that Ted had left
unsaid. Ted had inferred it, however, with his bitter reference to "jailbirds".
     It was a simple fact that if Ted Granmore admitted his secret visit to the
family mansion, the local officials would promptly quiz him as a suspect,
showing him none of the courtesy they had extended to Titus Weldorf. From the
way Giles Mandon tightened his lips, it was plain that he intended to do the
fair thing and avoid all mention of Ted's presence here.
     The investigators reached the spot outside Foster's window and soon
discovered the footprints around the corner. It was purely for sake of
comparison that men began to look at the shoes of their neighbors, and as they
did, Ted's face showed its first triumphant gleam.
     The only man in the party who was wearing blunt-toed boots chanced to be
Titus Weldorf, and his size looked very much the same as the marks on the
ground. For a moment, Titus's face clouded; then, in his most dignified style,
he met the situation.
     Bluntly, Titus remarked that the footprints were much like his own.
Carefully, he extended one foot above the print, and showed pleased surprise
when he discovered that it was his exact size. Looking at other feet about him,
Titus observed that his were larger than the rest.
     "We are in luck, sheriff!" exclaimed Titus. "You must look for a man who
wears shoes of my size and style. Unfortunately, I never buy my boots in
Venetia. Nevertheless, we have gained an important clue. That is" - Titus gave
a shrug, depreciating his own words - "if these footprints are important."
     A whole gamut of emotions swept over the face of Ted Granmore. They ran
from elation, through dismay, and finally ended in stupefaction. Before Ted's
very eyes, the men who represented law in Venetia, had let their suspicions
fade into complete agreement with Titus Weldorf, and at the finish they were
actually belittling the clues that were staring at them from the ground!
     Indeed, they were about to turn away, when Giles Mandon suggested, very
impartially, that it would be a good idea to follow the footprints. Haughtily,
Titus Weldorf conceded that the suggestion was a good one, so the march began.
     During it's progress, Cranston wished that he had been able to pick up the
trail as easily the night before. If he had, he might have overhauled the
murderer and given him a taste of The Shadow's justice.
     Not that justice wasn't lacking in Venetia. In his own appraisal of the
sheriff and the coroner, The Shadow regarded them as quite competent, the sort
of men who could be relied upon in a pinch. The name of Weldorf simply blinded
them, and Titus was quite aware of its dazzle. So aware, that it could prove
his own pitfall, should the time come. Having met with situations of this sort
before, The Shadow was unperturbed.
     As for pitfalls, those footprints that so resembled Titus's came close to
one, when they reached the ravine. There, the trailers saw the foundations of
the footbridge, tilted in the weakened soil. Below, the creek still raged, and
all vestiges of the bridge planking had been carried away by the torrent.
     Noting how the prints had turned, the investigators followed their new
route and came back to the road, not far from the place where Titus had parked
his car. Before anyone else could remark upon the coincidence, Titus took the
privilege.
     "If I had only been a few minutes longer!" he exclaimed, "I might have
heard the murderer when he reached the road! He must have been in a panic when
he found the footbridge gone. I wonder" - Titus, accidentally perhaps, let his
eyes fix upon Ted - "I wonder who could have visited poor Foster with intent to
kill him!"
     Ted's hand stabbed to the coat pocket beside it. If he'd had his gun, he
might have gone through with the threat that he had mentioned to Mandon, the
night before.
     Remembering Ted's murderous inclinations toward Titus, Mandon stepped in
between. In his impartial way, he suggested that speculation as to the killer's
identity be left to the authorities.
     Then, turning to sheriff and coroner, Mandon told about the footbridge
going out, the day before. He said that Corbey had reported it in the
afternoon, and that he had personally gone down to see the wreckage, from his
side of the ravine.
     At his invitation, the officials decided to go over to Mandon's. When
Titus stated that he had business elsewhere, Mandon tactfully invited Ted
along, in a manner that allowed no refusal.


     ACCOMPANYING the group, Cranston took the long ride around by car, and
joined the parade from Mandon's house up to the higher rim of the deep ravine.
     There were footprints on this side, made the day before: Mandon's and
Corbey's. They led to the ravine, and back again, graphic evidence of the
inspection trips that the chauffeur and master had made to view the ruins of
the footbridge.
     Still impartial, Mandon proved that one set of footprints was his own, and
made Corbey demonstrate the same with the second set. During the process,
Cranston's eyes were watching Ted, and they observed a satisfied smile.
     Ted Granmore was thinking that some day the dull-witted minds of certain
officials might grasp the point that if two men's shoes matched their
footprints, the rule might apply in a third case.
     Those footprints of Titus Weldorf, on the other side of the ravine, were
still the evidence that Ted Granmore hoped would save him the trouble of
avenging his uncle's death by ridding the world of Titus Weldorf. As yet,
however, the case was not as open and shut as Ted would have it.
     On the way back from the ravine, all talk concerned a mysterious marauder
who had been seen outside the Granmore mansion by the sheriff and his men.
Sheriff Clemming kept harping on the subject of a person unknown, who would
have to be found before this case was settled.
     By such a person, the sheriff meant The Shadow, and Ted Granmore,
listening, recognized that the guilt of Titus Weldorf would remain unproven
until the interloper was discovered and his part in the case revealed. It never
occurred to Ted that right beside him walked the marauder of the night before,
in the person of Lamont Cranston.
     A singular instance, this: The Shadow forced to hold back blame from Titus
Weldorf in order not to cast suspicion upon himself. Perhaps there was some
other reason why he preferred to let the present investigation linger.
     If so, only The Shadow knew why!


     CHAPTER VII

     THE CLANS GATHER

     AT noon the next day, funeral services were held for Foster Granmore, and
Giles Mandon attended them. When he returned to his office at the glass
factory, he found Lamont Cranston waiting there.
     Two people came along with Mandon. One was Ted Granmore; the other, a girl
whose resemblance to Ted was so trifling that only eyes as keen as Cranston's
could have noted it.
     She was Connie Granmore, a cousin of Ted's, and at first sight it was
plain that she had inherited the stronger traits of the family.
     The early Granmores, cofounders of the glass works, had been noteworthy
people. Little had they supposed that there would ever be ill feeling between
their family and such esteemed partners as the Weldorfs.
     It had taken years of luxury, ease, and extravagance to produce such
schemers as dead Foster Granmore and his living nephew Ted, who had argued over
the disposal of stolen funds, the only time The Shadow had seen them together.
Such tactics, however, were quite foreign to a girl like Connie Granmore.
     She was youthful and very lovely, with her deep-gray eyes and light-brown
hair, a girl who looked dreamy, until those eyes began to sparkle. It didn't
take anger to bring the sparkle, for indignation was about the nearest thing to
anger that Connie could display. She'd been showing it since she arrived in
Venetia, because she had been talking with her cousin Ted.
     With those sparkling eyes, Connie had a firm chin, which didn't mar her
beauty in the least. Instead, it showed she could mean what she said, and her
determination was of the right sort. In fact, Connie began to speak her piece
soon after she entered the office, and the ugly looks that Ted directed could
not stop her.
     "Ted has been telling me about Foster's holdings in the glass works," said
Connie to Mandon. "Do you have the records here, Giles?"
     Mandon nodded, and turned to a filing cabinet, only to have Connie stop
him.
     "Is it true," inquired Connie, "that Foster borrowed on those shares?"
     "He did," replied Mandon. "More than five years ago."
     "And that, I suppose, is why Foster found it necessary to borrow company
funds to the extent of forty thousand dollars?" Connie turned to Ted. "I think
that 'borrow' was the term you used."
     "I was thinking of poor Foster," began Ted. "After all, he didn't intend
to steal the money. If -"
     Connie's eyes, flashing indignation stopped him. She turned again to
Mandon, said:
     "You are willing to pay a fair price for those shares, the same amount
that Foster originally borrowed. It is only fair that you should have them,
Giles, even though Ted has suggested that I hold out for a higher price."
     Ted began to nudge down in his chair. His eyes shifted away from Mandon
and gave a worried glance Cranston's way. Ted didn't have to state that he had
played the rat. From the moment that Cranston had entered the picture as a
possible buyer of glass company stock, Ted had hoped to start him bidding
against Mandon when it came to the disposal of Foster's shares, now controlled
by Ted and his cousin Connie.
     Inasmuch as Mandon's own offer covered the par value of the shares, and
any added value was due to his excellent management of the company, there was
every reason for Mandon to direct his own anger upon Ted. But Mandon wasn't
angry.
     "I shall be quite willing to pay more," he declared. "I think that ten
percent would be quite proper, the profit to be divided between you two" - he
gestured from Ted to Connie - "as the heirs to Foster's estate. That ten
percent will also apply to your own shares, Ted, on which I have already loaned
you the full limit."
     Ted's borrowing was news to Connie, and it brought a firm smile to her
lips. The smile faded, however, when Mandon turned to Cranston and said:
     "If you wish to bid higher, Mr. Cranston, you are quite welcome to do so."


     WITH a headshake, Cranston declined, and received an admiring glance from
Connie. Ted hadn't a word to say, and Cranston understood why, even though
Connie didn't.
     Short on funds, as evidenced by his last chat with Foster, Ted was
doubtless so deeply in debt to Mandon that he had actually forfeited his right
to his own shares in the company. Knowing that Mandon could foreclose at will,
Ted had tried to pass the selling job along to Connie, and she had upset the
deal.
     Considering the circumstances, Mandon's offer of a higher price was an
absolute gift, so far as Ted was concerned. Connie recognized that much, and
spoke her admiration of Mandon's generosity. Then, withering Ted with another
accusing gaze, the girl declared:
     "I was glad when I left Venetia. Glad to find other places, where people
wouldn't speak of me as a Granmore. I've lived down a great deal in the past
few years, and I hated to come back here. I was genuinely sorry for Foster, and
I hoped that you would be the same, Ted, considering the way he died. But you,
at least, are still a Granmore -"
     "And there are worse names than Granmore!" shouted Ted, drowning Connie's
voice as he gave way to fury. "I'll tell you one. It's Weldorf!"
     He was on his feet, his fists clenched, swept by a sudden rage. Mandon
sprang up from the desk to quiet him, and Ted suddenly stemmed his anger.
     To Connie, it was a most marvelous display of self-control on Ted's part,
something that she deemed impossible, once he had passed the border of normal
self-restraint. But it was no surprise to Cranston.
     The Shadow knew that Ted had too much at stake to toss it overboard. He'd
already come close to double-crossing his patient advisor, Giles Mandon.
     Knowing Ted's spendthrift habits and his constant need for money, Mandon
had let the first matter pass. But to have Ted storming around the office,
shouting threats to all Weldorfs for the factory hands to hear, was something
that could not be tolerated.
     It wouldn't take even a snap of Mandon's fingers to break Ted Granmore.
The same authorities who had whitewashed Titus Weldorf would be only too glad
to pick Ted Granmore as the scapegoat in Foster's death. A scapegoat he would
be, if the facts he had revealed to Mandon were known.
     Everyone knew that there had been two visitors at the Granmore mansion the
night of Foster's death. One, Titus Weldorf, had come there openly. The other, a
party unknown, was wanted by the law. If Ted stated that he had been outside the
place, he would make himself the person in question.
     To argue that a third individual was in the case, would be very shallow
stuff. So shallow, that it would seem more ludicrous than the "borrowing" plea
that Foster had given in connection with outright embezzlement.
     One man, at least, had believed Ted's story. That man was Giles Mandon.
Since Mandon was apt to prove Ted's only friend in court, it wouldn't do to try
his patience further. So Ted, in most amazing style, turned his rage into a most
abject apology, which he repeated, very humbly, to every person present. Giles
Mandon showed appreciation by clapping Ted on the back.
     "Well spoken, Ted!" declared Mandon sympathetically. "After all, you've
been through quite an ordeal because of Foster's death. And don't forget" -
Mandon turned to Connie - "that what applies to one member of a family can
apply to another. It hasn't been easy for Ted to bear the stigma that Foster
brought to the Granmore name."
     It was Connie's turn to become humble. Murmuring her own apologies, she
pressed Ted's hand warmly, and he reciprocated with a very cousinly smile.
Then, coaxing them both to the door, Mandon offered a parting suggestion.
     "Connie will be staying at my house, Ted," said Mandon. "Why don't you
drive her up there? She hasn't seen the place since I remodeled it. You might
as well stay up there, too, because I'd like you to have dinner with us."
     As soon as the two were gone, Mandon shook his head and gave a weary smile
toward Cranston.
     "I had to get rid of them," spoke Mandon. "Can you guess why, Cranston?"
     "In one word," replied Cranston: "Weldorf."
     "Two words," corrected Mandon, still smiling. "Weldorf and Weldorf. I'm
not expecting just Titus. He is bringing his cousin, Roy."
     "The only other Weldorf?"
     "Here for Foster Granmore's funeral?"
     "In a way, yes," replied Mandon seriously. "You have a way of hitting
facts, Cranston. They're worried about those shares of Foster's, too. They
prefer to keep the company a closed corporation."


     HARDLY had Mandon finished, before the Weldorf's arrived. Again, Cranston
was treated to a gratifying surprise. Connie Granmore had been a welcome
contrast to her cousin Ted. Similarly, Roy Weldorf was quite an improvement
over Titus.
     Roy was younger than Titus, and showed none of the older man's shrewd
style. His hearty handshake was the opposite of Titus's flabby grip. When
Titus, in the manner of a vulture, began to talk about the disposal of Foster's
stock, Roy kept strictly out of it.
     Studying Roy, Cranston saw frankness and sincerity in his features. Roy
had the aristocratic visage of a Weldorf, but none of the haughty air that, in
the case of Titus, accompanied it. When Titus expressed smug satisfaction
because Mandon was buying Foster's stock, Roy looked relieved.
     "Very, very good!" declared Titus. "The less Granmores in this company,
the better."
     "Perhaps the same applies to the Weldorfs," suggested Roy. "I've often
wondered how Mandon puts up with either bunch."
     Titus gave his cousin a stare that Roy ignored. Then, haughtily, Titus
announced:
     "I have already arranged that Giles shall succeed me in the management of
this company."
     "He's already succeeded you," returned Roy, "though he's too polite to say
so. Well, Titus, we've finished what we came for. Let's go back to your hotel on
the hill."
     As soon as the two had gone, Giles Mandon laid his chin in his hand and
turned to Lamont Cranston.
     "What a chap, that Roy! expressed Mandon. "He could say more to Titus in a
minute than I could in a year! Well, Cranston" - Mandon's mood was becoming one
of business - "I don't think you can buy into this company right at present."
     Conceding that he couldn't, Cranston arose and shook hands with Mandon,
who reminded him that he was to come to the house for dinner. With that,
Cranston departed and went to the local hotel.
     There, he sent a telegram to his investment broker, Rutledge Mann, stating
that no stock could be bought in Weldorf, Granmore, & Co. At the end of the
telegram, Cranston added two words: "Send Marvin."
     From the window of his hotel room, Cranston was still his placid self as
he gazed across the town of Venetia, to the hills beyond, but the eyes that
gazed were those of The Shadow. It was the laugh of The Shadow, too, that
phrased itself upon Cranston's lips.
     Whatever the status of Weldorf, Granmore & Co., The Shadow had at least
found a rift in the feud between the families that bore the same names. He was
thinking in terms of Roy Weldorf and Connie Granmore; how deeply they might
become involved in matters past, and future.
     Much more depended on the finding of Foster's murderer than the mere
solution of a mystery.
     The Shadow knew!


     CHAPTER VIII

     CRIME TO COME

     IN the morning, two people both friends of Lamont Cranston, arrived in
Venetia. One was a girl named Margo Lane, the other a young man named Harry
Vincent.
     The Shadow was quite pleased when they arrived, because it proved that his
contact man, Rutledge Mann, had lost none of his skill at understanding
abbreviations.
     Mann - in reality, a secret agent of The Shadow, - hadn't worried about
"Marvin", a person he had never heard of before. He'd decided that "Mar" stood
for Margo while "Vin" meant Vincent, so he had sent them both along.
     Arriving independently, each was surprised to meet the other, but that
surprise was mild when they heard the things that Cranston had to tell them.
     Both Harry and Margo had read about the murder of Foster Granmore, but
hadn't connected it with the death of old Daniel Weldorf, five years before.
Succinctly, Cranston explained it for their benefit, in a secluded corner of
the Hotel Venetia. His comments showed that he had spent his spare time delving
through old court records.
     "On an eventful evening five years ago," stated Cranston, "Foster Granmore
stopped in at the glass factory to talk to Giles Mandon, who was working late.
While there, Foster learned that Daniel Weldorf had taken home the company
records, along with a steel box containing certain assets unknown to Mandon.
     "At nine, that same evening, a masked man entered the Weldorf home, shot
Daniel dead, and took all the items in question. Naturally, the question arose:
what was in the steel box? Nobody was sure, until a New York bank announced that
Daniel Weldorf had forwarded a list of bonds, valued at a quarter million
dollars, on which he wanted to borrow to expand the glass factory."
     Pausing, Cranston watched the expressions of his listeners. He could tell
that both Harry and Margo were jumping to conclusions. He waited until he knew
their thoughts were settled. Then:
     "There was no proof that Daniel Weldorf actually had the bonds," continued
Cranston. "If he did have, they were the property of the company. As for the
records, Mandon very fortunately had some duplicates, though they were
incomplete. Among them were the accounts kept by Foster Granmore. The
accountants who examined them found a shortage of forty thousand dollars."
     "So Foster murdered Daniel!" exclaimed Margo.
     "Hold it!" put in Harry. "They sent Foster up for embezzlement, not for
murder."
     "Because Foster had an alibi," explained Cranston. "According to Mandon,
he hadn't left the factory until a few minutes before nine. Foster claimed that
he had gone back to his own house, on the other hill. Thanks to Mandon, his
story stood."
     Margo immediately had a theory.
     "They were in it together!" she exclaimed. "Foster and Mandon! They wanted
the bonds and the records -"
     "So Mandon produced the duplicates," put in Harry, as Margo suddenly
paused. "How would you feel, Margo, if someone handed you a double cross like
that?"
     "Why... why, I wouldn't stand for it!"
     "Neither would Foster Granmore."
     Cranston's nod corroborated Harry's opinion, and Margo decided to listen
longer before voicing, further opinions.
     "You must both meet Giles Mandon," suggested Cranston tactfully. "You will
agree that he is an individualist, who favors no one. I can testify, personally,
that Foster regarded Mandon as a real friend. It was Mandon who met Foster when
he returned from prison. There were others, too, who talked with Foster that
same evening."


     WITH that, Cranston recited his own observations, and both listeners knew
that he was speaking from the viewpoint of The Shadow for they were secret
agents of The Shadow. There was silence when he finished, and after a brief
interval, Harry and Margo spoke their opinions, this time in agreement.
     "It was Titus who murdered Foster," declared Harry. "He figured that
Foster had phonied Mandon's clock, or something. Anyway, he was sure that
Foster killed old Daniel."
     "Ted couldn't have gained anything by killing his Uncle Foster," added
Margo. "If he had, he wouldn't have told his story to Mandon."
     "Ted would like to murder Titus, though."
     "Yes, and if he did, somebody would want to kill him."
     "You're jumping well ahead, Margo," laughed Harry. From the way you talk,
this case is a family feud!"
     "Isn't it?" asked Margo.
     Sobering suddenly, Harry decided that it might be. Turning to Cranston, he
asked if there were other Weldorfs or Granmores, and learned that there was one
of each. Then, as The Shadow began to describe Roy Weldorf and Connie Granmore,
his listeners, in their turn, understood why they had been summoned to Venetia.
     The suggestion of a feud wasn't far from wrong. Assuming that Daniel
Weldorf had been slain by Foster Granmore, and that the latter had been killed
by Titus Weldorf, it was certainly in the cards for Ted Granmore to continue
the vendetta.
     By his own admission, Ted had inclinations toward murder. It would be The
Shadow's task to cover that situation; whether by guarding Titus or watching
Ted, he did not specify.
     However, as usual, The Shadow was also looking ahead. He wanted to make
sure that Roy and Connie were not drawn into the vortex of crime. So far,
neither had seemed in sympathy with the quarrel between their respective
families, but there was a chance that tension would increase sufficiently to
imbue mere bystanders with animosity, each to each.
     Hence, The Shadow had summoned his agents to Venetia, that they might
cover the future aspects of the case. It would be Harry's job to meet Roy
Weldorf, Margo's to make friends with Connie Granmore.
     By noon, The Shadow was able to fix Harry's angle. As Cranston, he
arranged to lunch with the Weldorfs, and introduced Harry to them. To Titus,
Cranston broached his desire to buy stock in the glass works, and Titus bluntly
informed him that it couldn't be done. Roy, more affable, specified why.
     "You heard what Titus said yesterday," declared Roy. "The less Granmores
in the company, the better. You're not a Granmore, Cranston, but Titus thinks
you might be in cahoots with them."
     Cranston gave a grieved look, and Titus broke into an immediate denial of
the fact.
     "It never crossed my mind," he began. "Why, to begin with, the Granmores
have squandered all their money -"
     "But Ted is a schemer," put in Roy. "You said so yourself, Titus. He's
coming into a bonus from the stock he is selling to Mandon. That's why you have
the idea that he might try to acquire some of yours, through Cranston."
     "I only said that Ted might try to influence some outside party," argued
Titus, "I didn't specify Mr. Cranston. But perhaps you have forgotten, Roy,
that there is still another Granmore: Ted's cousin, Connie."
     Apparently, Roy Weldorf had a high sense of chivalry, for his face flashed
indignation when Titus brought the girl's name into the case. Then, coolly, Roy
reminded:
     "Connie left Venetia a few years ago, Titus. Maybe she has forgotten by
this time that she ever was a Granmore."
     Titus gave a sneer.
     "I suppose you've forgotten you're a Weldorf!"
     "Sometimes I wish I had," asserted Roy. Then, to soothe his cousin's
anger: "Anyway, Titus, I agree with you that Mandon is the proper man to head
the company. You've given him first say on your stock, should you decide to
sell it. I am inclined to do the same."


     FINDING that he couldn't persuade Titus, Cranston decided reluctantly to
return to New York. He remarked that his friend Vincent was staying in Venetia,
and Roy was quite pleased to learn it.
     Apparently, Roy was finding it quite boring to be with Titus all the time,
and would welcome the acquaintance of a likable chap like Harry. He even
insisted that Harry come up to the Weldorf house for the evening.
     The Shadow had worked this system before, but Harry was amazed to see how
rapidly it was progressing in this instance. After Cranston left, Titus decided
that he had to go over to the factory, whereupon Roy clung to Harry like a
long-lost friend.
     Apparently, during lunch, Cranston had foreseen that this would happen,
but Harry couldn't understand it. He wondered if his chief would have similar
luck when he introduced Margo to Connie Granmore.
     Luck was still with The Shadow.
     Driving up to Mandon's, Cranston found Connie at the house, along with
Ted, who was in a sullen mood. Having brought Margo with him, Cranston
introduced her, and Connie took an immediate liking to the other girl.
     They hadn't talked for half an hour before Connie excused herself;
returning she beamed at Cranston and Margo and announced:
     "I've just called Giles. He wants both of you to stay for dinner and spend
the evening with us."
     When Cranston said that he would have to go back to New York, Margo
thought the game was through, but when he added that Miss Lane could accept the
invitation, Connie didn't even ask why Margo was staying in Venetia. Instead,
she pressed the invitation upon Margo, in a tone that wouldn't allow refusal.
     Just as Roy Weldorf had wanted relief from his cousin Titus, Connie
Granmore seemed to need a buffer against Ted. Whether this meant that Roy and
Connie hated the family feud, or were trying to stifle an instinctive desire to
join it, was still a question. To such questions, The Shadow could usually
provide an answer.
     As he drove away from Mandon's house, Cranston's lips wore the faintest
trace of a smile. Equivalent to The Shadow's laugh, that smile told that the
brain behind it was probing deep into the riddle, and coming to a firm
conclusion.
     Whatever that conclusion, one thing was certain: Lamont Cranston was not
returning to New York.
     As The Shadow, he intended to stay in Venetia to watch for new
developments, which, by his calculations, might begin this very evening. Again,
The Shadow was right; more than right.
     Death was due again in this town where rival families ruled; doom that
might strike despite The Shadow's efforts to prevent it!


     CHAPTER IX

     DEEP IN THE DARK

     DINNER was over in the Weldorf mansion, and Harry had retired to a vast,
gloomy library with Roy, when Titus joined them. Under his arm, Titus was
carrying a brief case, which he tapped importantly.
     "I'm going over to see Mandon," announced Titus. "I shall return in about
an hour, at which time I shall have matters to discuss with you, Roy."
     "Nothing valuable in the brief case, I hope," remarked Roy. "Don't forget
what happened to Daniel when he carried bonds around with him."
     "An ill-spoken jest!" snapped Titus. "Nevertheless, I wouldn't carry
anything valuable where I am going. Ted Granmore happens to be over at Mandon's
house."
     As soon as Titus had gone, Roy turned to Harry and gave a noticeable
shiver.
     "Maybe I shouldn't have joked," said Roy. "But I have to laugh off the
gloom of this old place. There's no other way to forget it. Why" - Roy looked
around - "it was in this very room that Daniel was murdered! Can't you sense
it?"
     Harry shook his head, whereupon Roy glanced at his watch. He didn't seem
to relish the fact that Titus was returning in an hour. Then Roy became very
earnest.
     "I've got to shake it off," he told Harry. "I think I'll go out a while,
Vincent. If Titus comes back, tell him I'm upstairs and will be down shortly.
He might be irritated if he found I hadn't waited around for him."
     As Harry started to nod, Roy went from the library, calling back his
thanks as he went. By the time Harry reached the front door, he could see Roy's
car pulling from the garage, some distance away. Too late to follow, Harry was
getting a new slant on why Roy had so willingly furthered their brief
acquaintance.
     There was certainly something that Roy wanted to cover up, and he had
needed a friend to help him. A friend who didn't know too much about what was
going on in Venetia. Harry had struck Roy as the perfect tool, and maybe he was
right. Of all the neat yet innocent slips that Harry had ever seen accomplished,
this, was about the best.
     Even in his own mind, Harry couldn't be sure that Roy was actuated by any
wrong purpose. It might even be that Roy had a real regard for Titus, and
didn't want harm to befall him. Whatever the case, Harry found himself with no
other choice but to fall in line with Roy's wishes.
     There was only one solace: as yet, Roy couldn't be too deeply involved in
the Weldorf-Granmore feud. At least, so Harry felt, but he was at a point where
he mistrusted his own conclusions.


     OVER at Mandon's house, Margo and Connie were seated on a sun porch,
looking out into the moonlight, which was straggly because clouds were
gathering. There was a lovely hedged-in garden in back of Mandon's, and Connie
suggested that they stroll through it.
     Their stroll took them to a little pergola, where they sat down. There,
Connie suddenly adopted a pleading tone.
     "I'd like to be alone a while," she told Margo. "It's been such a strain
here, the way Ted broods so over Foster's death. Everyone seems so suspicious -
that is, everyone who belongs in this hopeless town, except Giles Mandon."
     Inasmuch as Margo didn't belong in Venetia, she was also excluded from
Connie's criticism, so she nodded to encourage Connie to talk further. The nod
proved poor policy.
     "You'll help me get over it," pleaded Connie, "Won't you?"
     "Of course!" replied Margo. "Tell me how I can."
     "Just stay here, then," requested Connie, "while I stroll around. So that
afterward you can say that we were here together."
     "Very well."
     It wasn't until Connie actually began her stroll that Margo became
suspicious. Without waiting to decide upon an excuse, Margo started among the
hedges to hunt for Connie. The hunt produced exactly what Margo feared.
     At the side of the garden, she found a gate in the hedge; it opened to a
path that led to a side road, and since Connie was nowhere else, it was plain
that she had gone through the gate.
     There was only one thing to do about it. Margo stole into the house, found
a telephone beneath the stairs and dialed the Weldorf number, intending to
inquire for Harry. She didn't have to ask for him, because it was Harry who
answered.
     "I know I'm stupid," confided Margo, "But Connie just gave me the slip.
What should I do about it?"
     "Don't ask me, Margo," came Harry's glum reply. "For once, I can't call
you dumb. Roy walked out on me the same way, and I let him go."
     "So we'll both have to sit tight -"
     "Yes. Call me if anything else happens."
     Margo decided to sit tight, out in the garden, inasmuch as that was where
Connie would probably return. She glanced through the hallway as she went out
through the sun porch, but saw no one. In Connie's case, Margo had been too
late in her search; this time, she was too previous.
     Scarcely had Margo gone outside before Ted Granmore appeared, sneaking
down the stairs from the second floor. He stole across the hall to Mandon's
study and began to turn the knob.
     For a moment, Ted hesitated, looked across his shoulder toward the front
door. He saw no one in the hall, and the blackness of the open doorway
convinced him that no observer was about.
     Ted was wrong.
     That blackness had taken on a solid form. It represented a new arrival.
With darkness settled, The Shadow had returned to Mandon's to begin his
evening's operations. Coming from the front, he hadn't seen Connie's departure
by the side gate, nor had he witnessed Margo's brief return to the house, when
she phoned Harry. But The Shadow had spotted one person who needed watching:
Ted Granmore.
     Perhaps Ted felt an impression of eyes that he could not discern. His hand
shook as he worked the doorknob, and he fumbled badly. Hearing Mandon's voice
within the study, Ted suddenly decided to knock.
     Mandon called for him to enter, so Ted ended his eavesdropping and opened
the door. Stepping into the study, he closed the door behind him.
     Immediately, The Shadow glided across the hall and demonstrated the
tactics that Ted should have used. Reaching the door, he turned the knob so
smoothly, so softly, that neither it's motion nor it's sound could have been
detected within the room on the other side.
     Peering in through the slight crack that he had opened, The Shadow again
witnessed an interview between Ted Granmore and Giles Mandon.
     "I'd like my revolver" declared Ted abruptly. "I want to turn it over to
the sheriff."
     Mandon eyed Ted steadily.
     "You're sure about it, Ted?"
     "Why not?" demanded Ted. They've found that Foster was killed by a bullet
of different caliber than mine, so I'm safe. Telling my story is the only way
to prove that Titus Weldorf murdered Foster. I need the gun to back it."
     Mandon arose. Dubiously, he turned to the safe and began to work the
combination. Deep in thought, he failed to hide the dial, and his action was
slow enough for Ted to check the combination, something which Mandon didn't
notice, since his back was Ted's way, though The Shadow plainly saw the eager
way in which Ted craned.
     As he opened the door of the safe, Mandon paused. Abruptly, he slammed the
door shut and twirled the dial. Turning, he declared:
     "I can't let you have the gun yet, Ted."
     "Why not?" sneered Ted. "Do you think I want it to kill Titus?"
     "Frankly, I do," returned Mandon. "It would be a short-cut to the thing
you want: vengeance for Foster."
     "Then how can I make the sheriff believe me?"
     "By telling the sheriff you gave me the gun. Or, better, I can let you
have the gun tomorrow. Not tonight, Ted."
     "Why not tonight?"
     At first, Mandon didn't want to answer. Finally he declared:
     "Because Titus is on his way over here. It wouldn't be safe for you to
meet him."
     "I'd like to meet Titus and have a showdown with him!"
     "That's just the trouble," observed Mandon. "But it's not going to happen
in this house. I must ask you to go upstairs Ted, until after Titus has started
home."
     Firmly, Mandon escorted Ted from the study. By then, The Shadow had chosen
a deeper recess in the hallway. Mandon called for Corbey, and the chauffeur
appeared, to receive instructions.
     "Mr. Granmore is going upstairs," declared Mandon. "I shall ask you to see
that he remains there, Corbey. I want no intrusion while Mr. Weldorf is calling."
     Nodding, Corbey gave Ted a stolid eye. Noting the chauffeur's stocky build
and hard-set face, Ted shrugged and went upstairs. Mandon turned back to the
study, stating that he wanted Titus shown there as soon as he arrived.
     Very shortly, a car was heard out front. The doorbell rang, and a servant
came from the kitchen to admit Titus. Corbey gave a gesture toward the study,
and Titus was shown there. Then Corbey, suspicion in his eye, gave a glance
upstairs.
     He must have remembered that there was a back stairway Ted might use, for
Corbey suddenly left his post and went out to the kitchen.
     That gave The Shadow opportunity to move to the study. Looking in, he saw
Mandon checking over papers with Titus. Their business ended, both arose, and
The Shadow withdrew from the door.
     This time, he edged toward the curtains that marked the darkened room
where Mandon had given a party on a previous evening.
     Seeing Mandon coming out with Titus, to accompany the visitor to his car,
The Shadow intended to circle around through the reception room and follow
outside, for from now on, he intended to take up Titus's trail.
     Good policy, that roundabout trip, for it meant that The Shadow wouldn't
be seen by any servants coming out through the hallway. Darkness, just beyond
the curtains, loomed a welcome to The Shadow's case, and this time, this being
in black, the deeper it came, the better. Yet there were limits to darkness,
even in The Shadow's case, and this time he exceeded them.
     There was a slight swish as The Shadow glided between the curtains. His
shoulder brushed one drapery, and it stirred. But the next swish and the
curtain's shake were not of The Shadow's making. They came so suddenly, that
the cloaked-investigator had barely time to swing about and throw up a warding
hand.
     In his wheel, his foot caught the opposite curtain; the jog was only
slight, but it spelled disaster for The Shadow.
     A gun, sledged by a down-swinging hand, swept from the first curtain and
passed The Shadow's guard. There was an impact as the weapon sidled hard
against the head beneath the black slouch hat. Receiving the stroke, The Shadow
sagged.
     The blow from the curtain had dropped The Shadow into much deeper darkness
than he had expected; that of unconsciousness!


     CHAPTER X

     THE HALTED MESSAGE

     THE front door had hardly closed behind Mandon and Titus, when a man
stepped from the curtained doorway. The man was Corbey, and he was thrusting
his hand deep into a pocket. The chauffeur's face was tightened in a dead-pan
expression which was too set. Its expression of innocence was forced.
     In short, Corbey looked like a person who had slugged someone in the dark
without giving the victim a chance. Nevertheless, considering that this was the
household where he worked, Corbey was within his rights. Outside the door, he
paused and looked back. Seeing no stir in the darkness, he kept on his way to
the front stairs.
     Mere luck had been responsible for Corbey's meeting with The Shadow. He'd
taken a circuit of his own, through the sun porch, after leaving the kitchen,
and had happened to come to the curtains just as The Shadow was retiring from
the opposite direction.
     Back at his original post, Corbey took a look up the front stairs; then
waited for Mandon to return indoors.
     When Mandon came, Corbey would have spoken but for an interruption. Ted
Granmore appeared on the front stairs and called down to Mandon as the latter
passed.
     "What about Titus?" queried Ted. "Has he gone back to his house?"
     "Yes," replied Mandon absently, "and I have to go to the plant. Titus has
been making a valuation of the entire property, and I must look up some facts
in question."
     "I'll bet he made the valuation high," gibed Ted. "If you want to buy any
of his stock, you'll pay double for it, Mandon!"
     Mandon ignored the gibe. He entered the study and came out again, a few
minutes later, carrying sheets of figures. Ted was still on the stairway; hence
Corbey didn't have a chance to gesture in Mandon's direction.
     In fact, Corbey was beginning to look undecided, as though he wondered
whether Mandon would approve his slugging tactics with The Shadow. At any rate,
the chauffeur didn't follow Mandon outside, as he might have.
     Ted remained on the stairway until he heard a car pull away, out front.
Then:
     "There goes your boss, Corbey," said Ted. "A Grade Double-A Sucker, if
ever there was one! Tell him I said so, if you want. Anyone who lets a Weldorf
trim him won't resent an insult!"
     With a shrug that seemed to dismiss all thoughts of Mandon, Ted turned and
went upstairs. Too late to contact Mandon, Corbey returned to the curtained
doorway, instead. There, he found The Shadow still motionless in the dark.
Lifting the prone figure, Corbey carried his senseless prisoner around through
the rear porch, to the kitchen.


     WHILE that was happening, Ted Granmore reappeared near the top of the
stairs. Peering down, he made sure that Corbey was not in the hallway below.
Therewith, Ted sneaked downstairs. He wasn't nervous any longer. Probably
thoughts of Corbey didn't worry him as much as those of Mandon, though if Ted
had known of the chauffeur's skill as a slugger, he might have been perturbed.
     Near the study door, Ted listened; then opened the door and entered
boldly. Closing the door behind him, he smiled when he noted that Mandon had
left the desk lamp turned on. It's glow carried to the safe, which was Ted's
next destination.
     There, Ted worked the combination carefully, and the safe came open.
Inside, he found his revolver. He cracked it open and saw that it was fully
loaded.
     Ted had put fresh cartridges in the chambers after the shooting match
outside of Foster's window. The gun needed cleaning, but Ted hadn't time to
bother with such a detail. Closing the safe, he stole out from the study.
     In the doorway, Ted listened. Again, he had a worried sensation that eyes
were watching him, but he finally shook it off. All the while, he held his gun
in his hand, ready to threaten anyone who might block him. Then, to steady his
determination, he muttered, half aloud:
     "A showdown with Titus. That's what I'll have, a showdown! Not here, you
say, Mandon?" Ted looked around, grinning as though he wished that Mandon would
appear, to raise objection. "All right, It won't be here. I'll go over to
Titus's house! Why not? He came to Foster's, didn't he?"
     That mumble couldn't be plainly heard, but somehow Ted's gestures were
graphic enough to give some idea of what was in his mind.
     Eyes were watching him from those same curtains where The Shadow had run
into Corbey. The same eyes saw Ted steal across the hall and pause at the front
door, where he pocketed his gun. Then, closing the door behind him, Ted went out
into the night.
     Margo came from the curtains.
     She'd chanced upon Ted, much as Corbey had come upon The Shadow. Worried
over Connie's prolonged absence, Margo had decided to come back in the house
and try another call to Harry. Sight of Ted, coming from the study with a gun,
had stiffened her. Fortunately, Margo was out of sight behind the curtains.
     Guessing that Ted was going over to the Weldorf house, Margo saw need for
an immediate warning to Harry, so she hurried across the hall and picked up the
telephone.
     As she did, she heard Ted's car pull away, and she listened for a
repetition of the sound. There was none; therefore, The Shadow couldn't be
trailing Ted. Then, deciding that he must be keeping check on Titus, Margo felt
relieved, and started to make her call.
     Hardly had she lifted the receiver, before she let it slide back to its
hook.
     Creaking footsteps were moving up behind her. They betokened heavy feet,
yet cautious ones. But for the strain that gripped her, Margo would not have
heard them. Something in those footfalls chilled her almost to the freezing
point. It wasn't until they had reached her that she suddenly rallied,
realizing that the very telephone she held could be used as a bludgeon against
an attacker.
     Turning, Margo started to swing the phone, only to have her hand stopped
by a driving grip. Though the hand that caught her wrist as tight as metal, the
voice that accompanied it was oily, almost apologetic.
     "Sorry, Miss Lane," it said. "Before you make a call, I must talk to you.
About something very important."
     Margo was looking into the face of Corbey. Well-controlled, the
chauffeur's features showed no animosity, but Margo felt that they were masking
something. Then, in the same smooth tone, Corbey inquired:
     "Is Miss Granmore about?"
     "Why... yes," Margo faltered. "She was out in the garden. I... well, I
just decided to come indoors -"


     ALMOST despite herself, Margo was covering the fact of Connie's absence.
She realized, suddenly, why she was doing it. Having seen Ted sneaking from
Mandon's study carrying a gun, Margo was beginning to justify Connie's
departure. Possibly Connie knew what Ted had in mind, and was hoping to prevent
it.
     But Harry had told Margo that Roy Weldorf was also at large. No wonder
Margo was befuddled!
     As she finished her stammer, Margo's wits returned. For one thing, she
didn't have to answer Corbey's questions. Margo gave the chauffeur a cold gaze,
which he returned in kind. Stiffly, Margo questioned:
     "Why do you wish to see Miss Granmore?"
     "Something important has happened," returned Corbey. His hand withdrew
from Margo's wrist. "Something she should know about."
     "Perhaps you should report it to Mr. Mandon."
     "He just left for the factory. I won't be able to reach him until he
arrives there. This matter cannot wait."
     Margo decided to test Corbey out.
     "Why bother Miss Connie?" she queried. "Isn't her cousin Ted around? Why
not talk to him?"
     There wasn't a change in Corbey's poker face. His gaze didn't budge from
Margo's. If anything the pose was too good. It could mean that Corbey, too, had
seen Ted go out. If so, he would know that Margo had seen Ted leave and was
therefore playing a bluff. One that Corbey couldn't call without spoiling his
own. However, the resourceful chauffeur found another way out.
     "I would rather not inform Mr. Ted," stated Corbey. "This matter is one in
which he might prove headstrong. I would prefer to speak to Miss Connie."
     "If you'd tell me what it's all about," declared Margo, "I might call her
for you."
     Margo was turning away, when Corbey caught her arm again. This time, his
grip was as restrained as his tone. Somewhat cryptically, the stocky chauffeur
declared:
     "I think that you will do, instead. Please wait here, Miss Lane and I
shall explain everything."
     Inasmuch as she couldn't walk away, Margo decided to remain. Corbey's grip
relaxed, and he reached for the telephone. Watching Margo intently, to make sure
that she didn't move more than an arm's length away, Corbey called the glass
factory and left a message for Mandon, to be given him when he arrived.
     "Tell Mr. Mandon that everything is quite alright here," stated Corbey,
over the phone, "but please add that I think he should return as soon as
possible."
     That brief message failed to furnish Margo with the information that
Corbey had promised. It was Corbey's next call that produced the thunderbolt.
Corbey made that call to the county courthouse and asked to speak with Sheriff
Clemming.
     "Hello, sheriff..." Corbey's eyes were fixed on Margo. "This is Corbey...
Yes, Mr. Mandon's chauffeur, calling from the house. I'd like you to come here
at once and bring some deputies with you..."
     "Why?" Corbey's expression became gloating, as he asked the question.
"I'll tell you why, sheriff." Eyes still fastened upon Margo, Corbey was
silently announcing that his words were meant for her as much as for the
listener on the telephone. "Because I've captured the prowler who was around
the Granmore house the night when Foster was murdered!"
     There was a sharp exclamation, the sheriff's from the telephone receiver.
Corbey cut it short as he dropped the receiver on the hook. He shoved his hand
forward to catch Margo's wrist as she began to sway.
     With a forced smile, Margo managed to cover up the horror that had swept
her.
     For Margo knew, from Corbey's triumphant gloat as well as the words he had
uttered, that his prisoner could only be The Shadow!


     CHAPTER XI

     INTO THE NIGHT

     POLITELY, Corbey bowed Margo toward the kitchen, and she accompanied him
without a word. Silence was the only policy at this moment, for with it, Margo
could cover her emotion.
     Corbey knew she was perturbed but that was to be expected. Anyone would be
worried in a house where a dangerous intruder had just been captured, even
though the menace was over.
     Such, at least, was the impression that Margo tried to give, for Corbey's
benefit.
     In the kitchen, they found two servants, each holding a gun. The weapons
were The Shadow's automatics, and they were trained on the cloaked prisoner,
who lay sprawled in a corner chair, his slouch hat tilted down over his eyes.
     Looking at the other servants, Margo saw that they weren't nervy chaps
like Corbey. Their faces were strained, and they had shied away from the
cloaked prisoner who had been placed in their custody.
     What troubled Margo was the fact that they were holding The Shadow's guns.
Having taken those from The Shadow's cloak, they could very easily have looked
at his face and identified him as Lamont Cranston, a recent visitor to this
house.
     Indeed, Margo was very sure that Corbey had looked at The Shadow's face.
It would account for the way in which the chauffeur had talked to Margo,
sounding her out to learn if she knew the dual identity of the masquerader.
     After all, it was Cranston who had introduced Margo to this household!
     In brusque style, Corbey began to show authority. Stepping to the
servants, he jerked the guns from their shaky hands and chided them for being
so scared.
     One servant gulped that he couldn't help being scared while watching a
prisoner who looked like the next thing to a ghost. The other servant, by his
nod, showed that he felt the same way about it.
     "You won't be worried, when you see who he is," scoffed Corbey. "That is"
- he spoke as though correcting himself - "he's just some ordinary fellow, like
anybody else. He's only wearing that outfit so nobody will know him. But we're
going to have a look at that face of his."
     Holding the two automatics, one in each hand, Corbey gestured toward The
Shadow and suggested that Margo remove the prisoner's hat. Therewith, Corbey
put an end to all doubt.
     Unquestionably, he had already identified The Shadow as Cranston, though
he hadn't let the other servants see the captive's face. Corbey was simply
pretending that he didn't know, in order to witness the effect on Margo.
     As they approached The Shadow's chair, Margo halted, trying to pretend
that she was afraid. It didn't wash well with Corbey, as his scoffing smile
revealed. The chauffeur wasn't bothering to display his poker face any longer.
     "I... I think we'd better wait for Miss Connie," blurted Margo. "You
wanted to talk to her, Corbey. Besides... I don't know many people here in
Venetia."
     "Neither does Miss Granmore," asserted Corbey. "She hasn't lived here
lately. I don't see any need to wait for her, Miss Lane."
     "But what about Mr. Mandon? Perhaps he -"
     "We don't know how soon he can get here."
     "The sheriff is coming, though!" exclaimed Margo. "We certainly ought to
wait for him!"
     "Of course we should!"


     THERE was sarcasm in Corbey's tone. Nevertheless, he meant what he said.
The chauffeur had found out exactly what he wanted: namely, that Margo knew the
identity of The Shadow. She wouldn't have balked, the way she had, unless she
wanted to favor the prisoner.
     It was all so plain to Corbey, even though the other servants didn't
recognize it. Margo, planted inside Mandon's house, while her friend Cranston
roved about as The Shadow. Having so satisfied himself, Corbey was quite
willing to wait until the sheriff came.
     He wanted others to witness Margo's confusion when someone lifted the
slouch hat to display the face beneath it. And the mental anguish that Margo
was undergoing was something that meanwhile pleased Corbey, very much.
     Likewise, Corbey recognized that Margo would become more desperate during
the painful wait. On that account, he was watching her as closely as he watched
The Shadow, though he was trying not to let her know it. One big gun dangling
loosely in his left hand, Corbey kept the other toward The Shadow, but there
were moments when he seemed lax.
     On those occasions, he let his right hand gun nudge Margo's way, just to
remind her that it would be useless to try flight.
     There was a clock ticking loudly on the kitchen wall, and it told off
minutes that became more grueling as they increased. Eyes lowered, Margo kept
staring at The Shadow, thinking that perhaps he might be dead. There were
moments when she thought she saw him stir; then she decided that the fold of
his cloak had merely fluttered from a breeze that sighed through the open
kitchen window.
     Another storm was coming over Venetia, and the breeze was its harbinger;
but storms seemed mild things, indeed, compared to the ordeal that faced The
Shadow.
     If still alive, he would be accused of the murder of Foster Granmore!
     Such accusation would carry teeth. Ted would no longer hesitate about
telling of his part in the affair. Titus Weldorf, already above suspicion,
would remain so. A prejudiced local jury would hang full guilt upon one man:
Lamont Cranston, alias The Shadow.
     The breeze was increasing. Along with the heavier gusts came flashes of
distant lightning, accompanied by the mutter of faraway thunder. But those
weren't the most ominous sounds that reached Mandon's kitchen. From the slope
leading up to the house came the throbs of motors, which announced the arrival
of the sheriff and his men!
     Even The Shadow seemed to shudder, as a heavier breeze whined in from the
window and swept the folds of his cloak. Corbey gave a harsh, pleased laugh and
looked at Margo. Her eyes were toward The Shadow; suddenly, they lifted, hoping
that Corbey wouldn't guess something that she had just seen.
     If Corbey guessed, he did it too late.
     He was giving the gun a wag toward Margo, when the something that had
stirred within The Shadow's cloak lashed forth with whippet speed. A gloved
hand overtook Corbey's and caught the moving automatic in a solid grip.
Snarling, Corbey tried to tug the trigger, and succeeded, but it didn't matter.
     The Shadow, half up from the chair, had timed his grab to the exact angle.
He'd stopped the gun just after its muzzle had moved away from him and before it
had gone far enough to point at Margo.
     Thunder reverberated through the room. Not the thunder that accompanied
the outside lightning, but the roar that came with the stab of flame that the
gun muzzle dispatched.
     The recoil of the powerful .45 reeled Corbey backward, as a bullet gauged
out a great chunk from the vacant kitchen wall. But The Shadow's hand was firm
on the gun, accompanying its jounce.
     A hard twist of a gloved fist and The Shadow, now on his feet, had
regained one automatic. Yet Corbey still held the odds. The Shadow was gripping
his gun by the barrel, whereas Corbey had a second weapon in his left hand, with
a finger set against the trigger!


     WITH a cry, Margo leaped in, hoping to intervene. She was swept aside by
the rapid action of the duel. Corbey was using a gun left-handed, and had to
bring it up and around. He shouldered Margo aside as he wheeled with the weapon.
     As for The Shadow, he sent the girl spilling farther, for he was spinning
even faster, away from the arc of Corbey's aim.
     At that moment, it seemed that Corbey would surely overtake The Shadow
with the gun muzzle before the cloaked fighter could bring his own weapon to
aim. The thing that Corbey didn't expect was the back slash of The Shadow's
hand. It came, carrying the reversed automatic, with a hard, sure stroke,
squarely against the borrowed gun in Corbey's left fist!
     Corbey didn't have a chance to pull the trigger as the automatic went
flying from his hand. The best he could do was jab his right hand into his coat
pocket, to bring out his own revolver, which he carried there.
     Spilled in one corner of the kitchen, Margo saw The Shadow spring the
other way, toward the spot where he had knocked the extra automatic.
     Instead of pausing to regain the loose gun, The Shadow reached the light
switch and pressed it. There was a door just beyond, and Corbey fired at it
when the lights went off. A sudden splash of lightning showed the doorway -
empty!
     Then came a laugh from back within the kitchen. The Shadow hadn't
forgotten his extra gun. He'd simply decided to handle the light switch first.
His dive back into the kitchen had bluffed Corbey completely, and before the
chauffeur could change his aim, The Shadow talked - with two guns!
     Up from the floor, The Shadow's stabs were directed toward the ceiling.
They were purposely harmless, but Corbey didn't know it. Corbey was diving
beneath a table, and when he heard The Shadow's laugh again, the chauffeur
blazed anew at the doorway. The Shadow's laugh still trailed, with a departing
tone that Corbey couldn't understand until the lightning flashed again.
     Strange, the way that blaze seemed clouded, only to clear itself before
the flash had ended. Yet the singular occurrence explained itself when eyes
turned toward the window. The thing that had blanked the lightning was a
black-cloaked shape. The flare was increasing, because that same shape was
sweeping out through the window, dropping from sight beyond!
     Corbey fired his last shots through the vacant window. With the rumble of
thunder that followed the lightning flash came the mockery of a farewell laugh,
announcing that Corbey's prisoner, The Shadow, was gone into the night!


     CHAPTER XII

     WANTED: A KILLER

     IF ever a man was gripped by savage disappointment, that man was Corbey.
He wasn't going to let a prisoner vanish from his sight and get away with it.
He started for a door that led outside, shouting for the servants to follow
him, which they did, largely because they preferred a more ample space than the
confines of the kitchen.
     There were shouts from in front of the house that came when lightning
flashed anew, and Margo realized that The Shadow must have been spotted by the
sheriff and his men. To the echoes of outside gunfire, Margo came to her feet,
wondering what next to do.
     At least, the best way to help The Shadow was to stay away from trouble,
so Margo took the route that led through the rear sun porch.
     There, the open door to the garden was most attractive. There was a chance
that The Shadow might double back among the hedges, where Margo might be able to
aid him. So Margo turned and started down the steps, only to run squarely into a
person coming the other way. Fortunately, an arriving lightning flash identified
the person in question.
     It was Connie, and she was breathless. She wanted to know what had
happened, and she was trying to make Margo believe that she'd been walking
among the hedges all this while. Drawing the other girl into the porch, Margo
settled the situation very promptly.
     "Corbey captured a prowler," declared Margo, "but whoever he was, he got
away. You aren't involved, Connie, so don't worry. I'll explain that you didn't
leave the garden."
     "Thanks, Margo," murmured Connie. "With all this trouble between the
families, I wouldn't want to be involved -"
     "I understand, Connie."
     "I'll do as much for you," added Connie, "if I ever can!"
     Margo felt sure that Connie would soon have her chance, though it would be
difficult for her to really help. Whether or not The Shadow escaped from his
present pursuers, there was going to be plenty of talk when Corbey announced
that his black-clad prisoner had been none other than Lamont Cranston.
     As Cranston's friend, Margo would be right in the thick of embarrassing
questions, and would certainly need whatever support Connie or anyone else
might offer.
     Shaking off pursuers was usually quite easy for The Shadow, but in this
case, the lightning flashes were playing hob.
     Off at the side of the house, The Shadow was in the middle of a lawn, with
deputies spreading everywhere. Each flash of lightning gave them a fresh view of
their fugitive, and they were shouting to one another that he was the same
mysterious marauder that they had encountered at Granmores.
     The deputies were shooting as they shouted, but tonight they lacked their
devastating shotguns, serious weapons at this close range. Sheriff Clemming
hadn't expected any trouble at Mandon's, for Corbey had indicated that
everything was under control. He'd brought five deputies simply because that
many happened to be around. They were all regulars, who preferred revolvers.
     The deputies were wasting their fire. They hadn't a chance to wing a
darting target like The Shadow. By the time they glimpsed him, a lightning
flash was ended and they were simply shooting into the dark.
     Corbey would have fired, too, if his gun hadn't been empty. Instead, the
chauffeur was shouting suggestions, and his words made sense.
     "Cut him off from the front!" bawled Corbey. "Box him in back, among the
hedges!"


     SHERIFF CLEMMING certified the order, and the deputies did their best to
follow it. The task proved easier than they expected, for The Shadow, too,
heard Corbey's shout, and it made sense to him as well.
     Cutting for the rear corner of the house, The Shadow was going right where
the deputies wanted him, when they saw him by another streak of lightning.
     Then The Shadow was in among the hedges, and the deputies were learning
that he, not they, had profited by Corbey's suggestion. Though the rear garden
was cramped, the hedges furnished the very cover that The Shadow needed.
     Each lightning flash showed deputies peering over hedge tops, looking for
a fugitive who had purposely lost himself in the maze by the simple expedient
of crouching low.
     During intervals of dark, the deputies plunged about, running into each
other and getting nowhere. The storm was almost on the hill, and a wind-swept
drizzle promised torrents of rain that would make the hunt hopeless.
     Crawling along the line of a hedge, The Shadow rolled beneath the brambles
as a deputy blundered past. Finding an opening in the hedge stumps, The Shadow
worked through and sneaked for the other side of the house.
     He knew that if he reached the front, a short dash would take him to ample
clumps of shrubbery that adorned the sides of the curving driveway which led up
into Mandon's.
     It happened that Corbey guessed what The Shadow might do next and began to
tell it to the deputies. Pulling themselves out of entangling hedges, they
started around to the front of the house, too.
     From a window, Margo and Connie saw them on the move. The Shadow, it so
happened, had gone past unnoticed. But he wasn't to remain so.
     Moving to a front window, the girls were just in time to witness a most
startling sequel to the man hunt.
     The Shadow had reached the front driveway and was well clear of the lights
that glimmered from the portico outside of Mandon's front door. The rain was
coming hard, pelting straight into The Shadow's face. He couldn't see the
shrubs, or anything else, down the driveway, but he had his sense of direction
to guide him.
     Flight was the only course. The Shadow had more important matters than the
dodging of deputies. As for the matter of Corbey, The Shadow was quite sure that
he could offset any testimony that the chauffeur might give.
     Any facts that Corbey divulged would dwindle into insignificance when more
important matters were revealed. Still, it would be better if Corbey kept silent.
     He was a trouble-maker, this Corbey, and The Shadow had a score to settle
with him. Even Worse, Corbey was to add more trouble, His chance came as he
reached the front of the house.
     At that moment, The Shadow was beginning a run down the homestretch - that
portion of the drive that would lead him to the shrubs.
     Vivid lightning filled the sky; with it, a mighty thunderclap directly
overhead. The storm had arrived in full blast, and the brilliance of that
lightning flash offset the blinding fury of the rain.
     Corbey saw The Shadow, and gave a triumphant bellow as he dashed in
pursuit, with the deputies a dozen yards behind.
     Blotting darkness had returned, and in it The Shadow reached the shrubs,
which the lightning flash had shown him. He didn't drop among them, as he had
when in the hedges. Instead, he zigzagged through the bed of bushes, changing
course, so as to be out the path of fire if the deputies decided to rake the
shrubs with gunfire.
     Reaching the shrubs in the darkness, Corbey gave another shout, which The
Shadow heard. So did the deputies, who were stumbling forward.
     "This is where he went!" yelled Corbey. "Get him! He's the man who
murdered Foster Granmore!"
     Lightning blazed, as though Corbey's shout had produced it. Waving his gun
across a curve of bushes that fringed the driveway, Corbey was sure that he had
sighted the huddled shape he wanted. His shout rose triumphant.
     "There he is! And I'll tell you who he is! His name -"


     A SMASH of thunder interrupted. Lightning had blotted out but the deputies
saw the stab of a gun from the shrubs where The Shadow had gone. They knew that
Corbey's gun was empty, hence he couldn't have fired the shot. What they didn't
know was that The Shadow hitherto had fired only to discourage persons who might
aim his way.
     Piling into the shrubs, they blazed away until their guns were empty,
aiming in the general direction of the last shot they had seen.
     More lightning showed the shrubs, but no figures among them. Caught up
with the deputies, the sheriff ordered them ahead. They stumbled in and out of
bushes and found themselves back by the edge of the curving drive. There, one
of the deputies floundered, gave a sudden yell, and flung himself upon a prone
figure.
     "I've got him!"
     The deputy had some one, alright, but his captive wasn't The Shadow. A
glare from the sky revealed the man's identity. The deputies had found their
own pal, Corbey, and he was definitely dead. The sheriff's stern tone followed
the thunder's rumble.
     "You fools!" boomed the sheriff. "Shooting at the man Corbey was after!
You should have known you'd clip Corbey instead! Bring him up to the house!"
     The procession reached the house, bringing Corbey as a burden. As Margo
and Connie opened the front door, the group was outlined, not by a flash of
lightning but by the glow of headlights that came swinging up the drive.
     As the car reached the house, a man sprang out. He was Giles Mandon, back
from the factory.
     Men were laying Corbey's dead form in the hall when Mandon joined them. As
they tried to tell Mandon of their blunder, he glared at them, denouncing their
stupidity. He was telling the sheriff that Corbey was worth a dozen of the
deputies who had slain him, when Clemming turned up from Corbey's body.
     "Don't blame my men, Mr. Mandon," said the sheriff solemnly. "I don't
think they dropped Corbey after all. They'd have gotten him in the back, but
this bullet took him in the heart. See for yourself."
     Mandon looked, and nodded. On the outskirts of the group, Margo could hear
the mutter that came from the deputies. They were in accord with the sheriff's
finding, not merely to excuse themselves but because the evidence pointed to
another hand behind the fatal shot.
     Never had matters been so ominous. As plain as words, that murmur stated:
     "Wanted for murder. The Shadow!"


     CHAPTER XIII

     THE CHANGED TRAIL

     IT was Giles Mandon who brought order out of chaos. He rapped home the
point that too much time had been lost in tracking a killer, the night when
Foster Granmore had died. He demanded to know what had happened in his absence,
and it took Margo to tell him.
     Omitting any references to Connie's disappearance of an hour, and Ted's
departure, Margo stated simply that Corbey had captured an unknown intruder,
who had later escaped.
     By the time she finished, Margo had witnesses to support her. Two
frightened servants came from where they had been hiding and solemnly nodded
their heads.
     Finding that Margo alone was vocal, Mandon demanded:
     "Who was the intruder?"
     "I didn't see his face," answered Margo. "It was covered with his hat."
     The servants nodded their corroboration.
     "Maybe Corbey took a look at him," suggested Mandon glumly. "If he did,
that's why the fellow killed him."
     "Corbey knew, alright," assured the sheriff. "He was spilling it when the
thunder interrupted him. The murderer heard him, and that's why he killed him.
It's going to be tough, though proving it, considering the way my men were
shooting. The killer could lay it to them."
     "But that bullet through the heart -"
     "Corbey was yelling to us," broke in the sheriff. "He might have turned
around and gotten it. Understand, I don't think he did, but it could have
happened that way."
     "That can be settled," decided Mandon, "by probing for the bullet and
checking it with the guns your deputies were carrying."
     "Kind of a big wound,"' observed the sheriff, looking at Corbey's body.
"I'd say the bullet mushroomed against a rib. Not much chance of identifying a
flat bullet. The experts will probably tell us it could have come from
anybody's gun."
     Mandon's expression changed suddenly. The sheriff's reference to guns in
general had given Mandon a recollection. Turning to Connie, he asked grimly:
     "Where's your cousin Ted?"
     Connie shook her head and looked at Margo, who also professed ignorance,
since she was supposed to have been out in the garden most of the time.
Beckoning to the sheriff, Mandon led the way into the study. Sight of the
closed safe reassured him.
     "I suppose I'm worried over nothing," began Mandon. "Still I'd better make
sure -"
     He fingered the combination and the safe came open. Turning, Mandon showed
a horrified expression, which only Margo understood. Prompted by a question from
the sheriff, Mandon explained.
     "There was a revolver in this safe," he said. "It belonged to Ted
Granmore."
     "If it belonged to Ted," queried Clemming, "what was it doing in your
safe?"
     "I put it there so Ted wouldn't use it," Mandon replied. "He asked for it
this evening. He wanted to give it to you, sheriff."
     "To me? Why.
     "I suppose I'd better tell you the whole story."


     THEREWITH, Mandon gave an exact account of Ted's first visit, when he
brought the revolver. He told how Ted had been at the Granmore house, and
detailed Ted's accusations of Titus Weldorf, along with his mention of a
mystery man in black.
     "I believed Ted," stated Mandon simply, "though I wasn't willing to brand
Titus as Foster's murderer. The killer could have been the man in black."
     "Right!" expressed the sheriff. "He was around there that night. It's up
to us to find him."
     "That may not prove difficult."
     Mandon's steady words chilled Margo. She feared that he had somehow
guessed that Cranston and The Shadow were one. Then Mandon's next statement
ended her alarm, though it produced new complications.
     "Ted admits being at the Granmore house," reminded Mandon, "and he was
here this evening when I left. I'm wondering, sheriff, if Ted could be the
mystery man he talked about."
     Clemming's big hand thwacked the desk.
     "There's the answer!" he exclaimed. "Ted put on that black rig so he could
snoop around Foster's! He was snooping here, too, or he wouldn't have been able
to get into your safe. He couldn't risk having you see his face. If he was
spotted, he wanted to blame it on the unknown party in the case.
     "He had to keep Corbey from recognizing him, too. But Corbey met him and
slugged him cold. What's more, Corbey found out who Ted was. No wonder Ted laid
for Corbey, down by the drive. It was murder, that's what!"
     Mandon was motioning for silence. He had something deeper on his mind.
Again, his impartiality was coming to the fore.
     "We must refrain from blind accusations," declared Mandon. "Speculation is
not proof. I would not say that Ted Granmore was murderously inclined, except -"
     Mandon's eyes were on the open safe. He turned, his frank gaze changed to
one of horror. Mandon was recalling, only too well, some of the things that Ted
had said this very evening. The sheriff pressed forward.
     "Except for what, Mr. Mandon?"
     "Except in one case," replied Mandon slowly. "Ted wouldn't trust himself
with that gun, because be was afraid he would kill Titus with it. Tonight, Ted
was talking about a showdown with Titus when he came here."
     "Titus Weldorf came here?"
     "Yes, but he left safely. I saw to that. Titus went home just before I
started to the factory -"
     Mandon ended his own comment by reaching for the telephone on his desk. He
lifted the receiver and began to jiggle the hook. A voice responded, only to cut
off while Mandon was trying to give the Weldorf number.
     Outside there was a glow of lightning, followed by receding thunder. Rain
pelted heavily, and Mandon heard it.
     "The storm has put the line out of commission!" exclaimed Mandon. "The
service has been terrible all this week! No chance to phone Titus. Even the
operator couldn't hear me. We'll have to rush over to the Weldorf house,
sheriff!"
     The sheriff lost no time in starting. He and his men were going out the
front door, Mandon with them, when the latter turned and looked back at Connie
and Margo, who were wondering if they ought to come along, too.
     Mandon told them to stay, and try the Weldorf number in about ten minutes,
on the chance that the line would be in operation by that time.


     MARGO didn't wait that long. She tried the hall-way phone soon after the
cars had sped from the driveway. She couldn't get an answer at first, but some
jiggles of the hook finally produced the operator, and Margo gave the number.
     It was then that Connie intervened. She reached to take the telephone from
Margo's hands.
     "You'd better let me talk," began Connie. "This may be serious business,
Margo. I wouldn't want you mixed in it."
     "I'm a neutral," reminded Margo. "It wouldn't do for a Granmore to talk to
a Weldorf."
     "But I could explain things -"
     "You mean you could calmly tell Titus that Ted is coming over to murder
him? I don't think he'd listen."
     "Roy would -"
     Connie halted, then began to stammer.
     "I mean Roy might," she said. "He's different from the other Weldorfs - at
least they say he is, that is; I don't mean that the Weldorfs say it. I mean
other people say -"
     "You're too confused to talk to anyone," declared Margo. "I'll handle this
matter. Wait! I'm getting an answer, and it sounds like one of the servants."
     It happened to be Harry Vincent, who was expecting a call from Margo. Very
briefly, Margo summed up events at Mandon, and asked if Titus had returned.
Harry said that he hadn't, and added that Roy was still absent, too.
     Though Connie caught only Margo's half of the conversation, she began to
wonder about it. Margo was certainly going into a great many details for the
benefit of a mere servant.
     Hanging up, Margo noticed Connie's expression and explained that she had
talked to a guest at the Weldorf house, a man named Vincent, to whom she had
been introduced that afternoon. Sudden enlightenment came over Connie's face,
and she gave a knowing nod. Quickly, she asked:
     "Did he mention Roy Weldorf?"
     "He did," replied Margo. "He said that Roy was there, and that he would
tell him everything. That was why I decided to be so specific."
     There was just one reason why Margo misquoted Harry. The case of Roy
Weldorf was so similar to that of Connie Granmore, that Margo deemed it only
fair to give him a break. Roy had slipped Harry; but, in her turn, Connie had
slipped Margo. Since she had declared herself a neutral in the feud between the
families, Margo couldn't very well inform a Granmore regarding a Weldorf.
     "It will be alright, then," declared Connie, quite relieved. "Between
them, Vincent and Roy should certainly be able to soothe Titus and Ted. I'm
sure that they can, at least, keep Ted from shooting Titus - if Ted really
intends to do so, which I doubt."
     Margo didn't share Connie's relief. From all that she had seen, she feared
that death was still on the march. As if in corroboration came a streak of
lightning, a peal of thunder, both from the direction of the Weldorf hill. The
storm had brought tragic happenings to Mandon's home; it might do the same to
the Weldorf mansion.
     Yet, withal, there was a better omen. Along with that storm had gone The
Shadow. Despite the fact that he was blamed for Corbey's death, his real
mission was to prevent doom. Unless murder had already struck, The Shadow was
the one being who could halt it.


     CHAPTER XIV

     A QUESTION OF MURDER

     IN the gloom of the great Weldorf library, Harry Vincent was standing by a
table, gripping the telephone with one hand and thrusting the other deep into
his pocket, where he could feel the comfortable touch of a gun.
     He was glad that he was equipped with an automatic, even though such
weapons had brought trouble to his chief, The Shadow, upon this very evening.
     Harry's case was different. He was an invited guest in a house where
murder threatened, and could therefore explain almost anything that happened.
Inasmuch as The Shadow was at present a fugitive, Harry might have to take over
the duties of his chief.
     There lay the difficulty. Filling The Shadow's shoes was a tremendous
problem. There were times when The Shadow had called upon Harry for such
service, and this could be regarded as one of them. In that case, however,
Harry should have heard from The Shadow by this time. Instead, he had only
heard from Margo.
     True, Margo had given valuable facts, but there were still some that Harry
needed. Vital facts, upon which coming events hinged. Trying to piece the
missing points was more of a riddle than Harry could solve.
     The first point was Titus Weldorf.
     By all calculations, Titus should be home by this time. In fact, he should
have returned as much as a quarter hour ago. He had left Mandon's earlier than
Mandon himself. Yet Mandon had reached the factory, and then returned to his
home.
     If Titus had returned, where was he now?
     There was a partial answer. Titus could have driven his car into the
garage without Harry hearing it. The garage was none too close to the house,
and the thunder of the approaching storm could easily have drowned a motor's
noise. But there was no reason why Titus should have stayed in the garage,
particularly with a storm about to break upon the hill.
     Next: Ted Granmore.
     Ted had gained a good head start on the sheriff. A much greater range than
the sheriff supposed, because Ted wasn't the man in black who was regarded as
Corbey's killer. In fact, by Harry's calculations, Ted should be here by this
time, too, which made matters all the worse.
     The final point was Roy.
     He was the "other" Weldorf. the one who wasn't supposed to be in the
picture yet, though circumstances might have produced such a result. Assuming
that Titus Weldorf was being stalked by Ted Granmore, it might be that the
latter was hounded by Roy Weldorf.
     As he thought in such terms, Harry halted himself with a short laugh. This
thing was getting beyond sensible limits. Maybe it would reach the point where
Harry would fancy that Connie Granmore was on the trail of Roy Weldorf. It
wouldn't do to jump ahead in such absurd fashion. Right now, Harry's problem
was to see that Ted Granmore didn't find Titus Weldorf.
     Since there was no chance of either being in the house, Harry decided to
go outside. Rain was battering hard against the windows, so Harry borrowed one
of Titus's raincoats from a rack in the hall. Opening the front door, he moved
out into the storm, and turned his head to avoid the brilliance of a vivid
lightning flash.
     As Harry opened his eyes again he still saw a glare. It came from the
headlights of a car that had labored up the steep hill and was now coming past
the garage. Stepping behind a big pillar, Harry saw the car stop. A man sprang
from it and started to dash up the steps, into the house. Harry recognized Roy
Weldorf.
     Roy's hurry was evidently caused by the storm, nothing more. He halted at
sight of Harry, shook steams of rain from his hat, and questioned breathlessly:
     "Is Titus back? The storm delayed me -"
     "Titus isn't back," interposed Harry, "but he should be. I just had a call
from Mandon's saying that Ted Granmore is on his way here, gunning for Titus."
     Roy's face showed alarm. He made a sudden gesture toward the garage, which
could barely be discerned in the blinding rain.
     "There are lights in there," declared Roy. "I saw them when I passed. I
didn't put my car inside, because I didn't want to get wet. I thought that I
could go there later."
     "You're going there right now," asserted Harry. "And so am I. Come on!"
     They dashed to the garage and found one of its folding doors ajar. Roy was
in the lead, not being burdened with a raincoat, and before Harry could stop
him, the other man wrenched the door open and sprang inside. Harry followed,
trying to drag Roy back. It wasn't necessary.
     Roy stopped so abruptly that Harry almost bowled him over. Then both were
rooted, staring at a sight that quite fulfilled their worst fears.


     STANDING in the center of the large garage was Titus's car. The door on
the driver's side was open, and beside it stood Ted Granmore.
     He was faced toward Roy and Harry, covering them with a revolver, the one
which he had taken from Mandon's safe. But the aimed weapon wasn't the thing
that riveted Roy and Harry.
     On the cement floor, at Ted's feet, lay the body of Titus Weldorf. Its
crazy sprawl was evidence enough that Titus was quite dead.
     Here was murder on display, with murderer in evidence. As a man who had
just completed one kill, Ted Granmore looked quite capable of another. His
face, however, was the strangest portrayal of mingled moods that Harry Vincent
had ever observed.
     Ted's face showed satisfaction, yet was tinged with worry. He carried a
sneer that was weakened by a twitch. At one moment, his finger would tighten as
though ready to pull the gun trigger; then his hand would loosen as if it wanted
to drop the revolver on the floor.
     Suddenly, defiance became Ted's ruling mood.
     "I know what you think!" he snarled. "You think I murdered Titus, the way
he did with Foster. But this is one time circumstantial evidence doesn't hold!"
     Roy started to say something, only to receive a warning nudge from Harry's
elbow. Ted didn't notice Harry's shift. So Harry went further with it. Under
cover of Roy's body, Harry began to work his hand into his pocket, to draw his
own gun.
     "Maybe Foster killed old Daniel," conceded Ted. "I wouldn't have put it
past him. Foster was out for all he could get, even if it didn't include a pile
of bonds that Daniel lied about. If Foster did kill Daniel" - Ted paused,
emphatically - "then Titus had a right to kill Foster.
     "Titus did kill Foster! I'm willing to swear to it! That gave me a right
to kill Titus. I know what you're thinking, Roy! You'd like to kill me,
wouldn't you? But the right isn't yours, because I didn't murder Titus!"
     Ted's words had lost their sneer. They rang out clearly, as though driving
home a truth. A strange truth, from a man who was standing beside the very body
of his victim. So strange, that it couldn't be believed. Ted saw the doubt on
Roy's face, and scowled. Then:
     "Why should I lie about it,"' questioned Ted narrowly. "I could kill you,
too, Roy, and that friend of yours, whoever he is. I'd do it if I were really a
murderer, but I'm not. I'll tell you why. I'd planned to give Titus a chance to
confess that he'd killed Foster. Only somebody killed him first."
     As Ted finished, there came a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder,
marking the passage of the storm across the hill. Ted seemed to enjoy the
battering of the elements, as though the fact the lightning hadn't struck him
dead could be regarded as a proof of his statements. But Roy's eyes still fixed
on the body of Titus, showed no belief in Ted's story.
     Watery beads appeared on Ted's forehead. Whether raindrops or
perspiration, they annoyed him, and he wiped them away with his free hand.
Reaching for the car door, Ted slammed it shut above Titus's body.
     "Somebody got here first!" repeated Ted savagely. "I saw the car and knew
it belonged to Titus. I sneaked in and saw him, sitting at the wheel. I yanked
the door open and told him to come out. He came - like that!"
     Reaching for the handle, Ted pulled the door wide, and ended with a
down-sweeping gesture to indicate the spill of the dead body. In so doing, Ted
turned without realizing it, and his gun away from the men he covered.
     By then, Harry's automatic was drawn, out of sight behind Roy's back.
Harry didn't lose an instant.


     WHEELING, Harry yelled to Roy: "Look out!" and shoved his companion behind
Titus's car. Making a forward lunge toward Ted, Harry was driving, gun first, as
the fellow came about. Harry was aiming for Ted's gun hand, hoping to clip it
with a quick shot.
     But Ted didn't wait around. He sprang in front of the car, between its
radiator and the wall of the garage. Springing to overtake him, Harry had Ted
really on the run, when an obstacle presented itself.
     That obstacle was the body of Titus. Tripping across it, Harry fell
against the running board. Throwing his arm forward to protect his head from
the front fender of the car, Harry failed to avoid a glancing blow that
somewhat jarred him. With the jolt, he lost his hold on the automatic, and it
clattered to the floor beside Harry's flattening form.
     Over the hood of the car came Ted Granmore, his face as savage as any
human's could be. His denial of murder seemed a shabby pretense, considering
his present action. He intended to kill Harry in cold blood, before any human
hand could stop him. Nor was any hand close enough to deliver aid. The thing
that saved Harry Vincent was a laugh. A weird, strange tone that seemed more
than human. Coming, as it did, in the wake of a storm wherein all the elements
had loosed, that outlandish mirth might well have been uttered by a creature
from another world.
     The tone had stayed the hands of killers in the past, and it worked anew
in the case of Ted Granmore. Poised half across the car hood, Ted forgot Harry
for the moment, to look for a more formidable foe whose very mirth threatened
destruction.
     Ted Granmore had reason for the sudden dread that he displayed. He was
hearing the laugh of The Shadow!


     CHAPTER XV

     STRIFE ON THE HILL.

     IT took Ted Granmore only a few seconds to locate the source of The
Shadow's laugh, but that brief period was enough. Not enough to give Ted a
bulge against a new attacker, but sufficient for The Shadow to assure the
future of his agent, Harry Vincent.
     The laugh came from the door of the garage. The Shadow had arrived there
just in time to witness Harry's tumble and hear the clatter of Ted's leap atop
the hood of the car. Though Ted was where The Shadow couldn't see him, the
fighter in black recognized the danger that Ted represented.
     Therefore, The Shadow laughed.
     He knew the effect that his sinister mockery would produce when it echoed
within the confines of the garage. But The Shadow's vocal challenge was but the
prelude to further action, that he supplied in his usual rapid style.
     A sweep of blackness came hurtling forward, so suddenly, that Ted took it
for something from nowhere. It was past the spot where Titus lay, and springing
onward beyond Harry's rising form when Ted aimed at the thing in black.
     Savagely, the man who repudiated murder, sought to kill the cloaked foe
who had literally snatched one victim from his grasp. Thinking that The Shadow
was coming around the front of the car, Ted aimed past the radiator and tugged
his trigger twice.
     Ted missed. Twice.
     He couldn't understand it. He was firing at nothing but a laugh. Ted's
blood shot eyes were seeing black spots against the garage wall where his
bullets had smashed themselves flat. Black spots, as though The Shadow, by some
mysterious process, had dematerialized himself into a multitude of specks!
     The fault lay with Ted's strained vision.
     At the moment that Ted's gun swung to aim, The Shadow staged one of his
swift swirls. He didn't continue on to the wall. Instead he swung full about
and dropped low, all in one amazing twist.
     So elusive was The Shadow's fade-out, that Ted's vision, like his aim,
carried onward. The man who wouldn't admit himself a killer would have sworn
that he'd seen The Shadow right in front of him when he aimed.
     As for the laugh, it might have come from anywhere, the way The Shadow
voiced it. It wasn't surprising that Ted's imagination placed it at the one
spot where it couldn't be.
     The whole result was just too much for the maddened mind of Ted Granmore.
Dropping to his side of the car, Ted flung himself about and dashed for the
door of the garage.
     Into Ted's path came Roy Weldorf. Ted didn't even see him, for Roy was
canny in his lunge, coming from in back of the car. But when they grappled, Ted
struck out savagely, and Roy, dodging the furious blows, dived clear across the
back of the car. There, Roy came into the path of another charging fighter.
     The Shadow was coming after Ted along the other side of the car, hoping to
cut him off before he reached the garage door. Roy's dive spoiled The Shadow's
opportunity.
     Half stumbling, The Shadow was gripped by Roy, who was acting blindly,
thinking that he had encountered Ted again. Clutching hard, Roy gripped The
Shadow's cloak, until its owner wrenched it forcibly from his grasp. By then,
Ted was out of the garage.
     Wheeling in pursuit, The Shadow saw Ted outlined in the gleam of
headlights from a car coming up the hill through the lessening rain. As The
Shadow aimed, Ted ducked behind a tree and began to shoot at the arriving car.
Another was behind it; these were the sheriff's cars, and they were followed by
Mandon's.
     Recognized by the newcomers, Ted became an object of immediate pursuit.
Men were out of the cars, deploying while they opened fire, and Ted was ducking
somewhere in the darkness beyond the driveway.
     For a double reason, The Shadow decided that blackout tactics were to his
own advantage. He wanted to capture Ted, and knew that he might manage it in
the dark, he also wanted to keep the deputies in ignorance of his presence.
     Good policy, considering that the sheriff's men wanted The Shadow for
Corbey's death. The fact that they might have mistakenly identified him as Ted
Granmore, occurred immediately to The Shadow; hence, his two reasons for
keeping to the dark, combined to form a third.
     Swinging around in back of the halted cars, The Shadow circled past the
trees, to block off Ted's escape.
     It would be excellent if the fighter who wasn't Ted should meet the one
who was. Considering The Shadow's aptitude in darkness, there could be but one
result. A brief set-to in the night, and Ted Granmore would be found dazed and
helpless. This, if anything, would produce a respite in the existing feud, a
breathing spell wherein facts could be established.
     Off beyond the trees The Shadow waited. He could hear a man stumbling
somewhere and knew that it must be Ted. The deputies were badly off the trail.
A few more minutes and The Shadow's cause would be won.


     SOMETHING had happened elsewhere.
     In the garage, Roy Weldorf had reached Harry Vincent and pulled him to his
feet. Rubbing his head, Harry was looking about, puzzled by the sounds of
gunfire outside. Harry was feeling in his own pockets for his missing automatic.
     Roy saw the weapon, picked it up, and was about to hand it to its owner,
when another idea struck him. Harry was staring the opposite direction, so Roy
pocketed the gun himself and hurried out of the garage.
     All about were flashlights. Like the headlamps of the cars, they were
somewhat dimmed by the rain that had slackened to a drizzle. Since no one was
finding Ted, Roy decided upon a simple course.
     He started out into the darkness among the trees, on the assumption that
if Ted still chanced to be around, he could be found where lights were absent.
     At that moment, Ted was moving very cagily, hoping to sneak from the
untenable terrain. He was heading right for The Shadow, though he didn't know
it. The reason of course was that The Shadow had purposely placed himself in
Ted's path, judging its direction by the occasional sounds that Ted made.
     Through sheer accident, Roy was coming the same direction. Not being
hunted, he was making more noise than Ted. His sounds attracted the deputies,
and they suddenly started in among the trees. Seeing the lights, The Shadow
made a quick shift, intending to cut Ted off sooner than he had originally
planned.
     Things happened in very quick succession.
     Ted heard Roy's overloud approach and sprang to his feet, looking over his
shoulder. At that moment, a flashlight bored through the trees. It revealed Roy
to the deputies, and they saw Ted beyond. Roy saw Ted, too.
     In a trice, the Weldorf-Granmore feud was carried another step onward. Roy
Weldorf bounded forward, aiming the gun he carried. Ted Granmore, anxious to
escape, did not turn to fire. Instead, he tried to spring off between the trees.
     He stumbled, caught himself against a tree trunk, and turned like a
creature at bay. Of the pursuers, only Roy saw him, for Ted had sagged into a
little gully.
     Aiming point-blank, Roy tugged the trigger of Harry's automatic.
     By all the rules of the hunt, that shot should have driven home to Ted
Granmore's brain. But Roy Weldorf missed his target by yards. Out of
pitch-blackness, into the glare of the powerful flashlight, swept a cloaked
shape that enveloped Roy with a single swoop.
     So powerful was The Shadow's drive, that he lifted Roy clear from his feet
and sent the gunshot up among the tree tops. Then Roy was somersaulting
somewhere in the darkness, to land in a little daze of his own.
     Other pursuers saw The Shadow. Already inclined to believe that he was Ted
Granmore, they thought the question settled. They didn't stop to think how Ted
had shifted position and changed attire, all in a few scant seconds. They began
to shoot for the figure in black, and under such a barrage The Shadow had only
one choice.
     With weaving stride, he picked the first darkness that he could reach. His
fade-out was so sudden that even his direction proved deceptive. But the bullets
that raked the tree trunks produced another target.
     Hearing the whining slugs, Ted Granmore found his feet and dashed away.
Flashlights promptly spotted him, but he kept on running, and his start was
enough to take him out of gun range.
     All very suddenly, Ted had become himself again, in the opinion of the
sheriff's men. It didn't matter how he had shed the cloak that they thought he
was wearing. Ted was their quarry, and they intended to trap him, never
realizing that they were cutting off the one pursuer who really could have
bagged the fugitive.
     Though quite safe in the darkness, The Shadow had no further chance to
join the chase.


     TED doubled his trail. He cut back toward the garage. There wasn't a
person to block him off. Every man, Giles Mandon and Sheriff Clemming included,
had started in among the trees. Harry Vincent was coming from the garage, but he
no longer had a gun, and all he could do was drop back out of sight.
     Ted didn't even see Harry. Turning toward the hill below the garage, Ted
loped to a car that he had parked just off the road. Springing into the
vehicle, he loosened the hand brake and let the car coast. It was whirling down
the hill before any one could overtake him.
     Others were climbing into their cars, eager to give pursuit. Strife on the
hill had ended in a motorized chase. Cars were scudding down into the valley,
their lights swinging wildly as they made sharp turns. The only men not in the
chase were Harry Vincent and Roy Weldorf, who were meeting in the center of the
driveway in rather groggy fashion.
     This wasn't The Shadow's chase, either. His opportunity had passed. He had
tossed aside his chance to capture Ted, rather than take a dead prisoner into
camp. But for The Shadow's intervention, Roy would have dropped Ted with
bullets and the family vendetta would have moved along another peg.
     From all that he had seen, The Shadow had full reason to class Ted
Granmore as a murderer, and therefore a man who deserved death. Ted Granmore,
standing above the body of Titus Weldorf, had pleaded innocence, but The Shadow
had not been present to hear it.
     What The Shadow had viewed was Ted's later effort to kill Harry Vincent,
in a truly murderous fashion. Ordinarily, The Shadow would not have prevented
someone else from stopping a man like Ted with bullets. But the case of Roy
Weldorf was not ordinary.
     Had Roy slain Ted Granmore, The Shadow's best-laid plans would have met a
sudden end. Weldorf versus Granmore, with death the purpose, was something that
The Shadow intended to obliterate so thoroughly, that the world would forget
that talk of such a feud had ever existed.
     Tonight, The Shadow had failed to prevent the murder of Titus Weldorf, but
he had forestalled the death of Ted Granmore. Superficially, the cases seemed no
different, since the evidence of murder was equal against both.
     But there was a difference. The Shadow knew.
     That was why Harry Vincent heard the whisper of a parting laugh from
somewhere among the rain-swept trees. A grim laugh, yet one that promised to
sweep away the cloud of mystery that hovered over a crime-deluged town.
     The laugh of The Shadow!


     CHAPTER XVI

     PROOF OF MURDER

     WHEN Sheriff Clemming and Giles Mandon returned to the Weldorf mansion,
they came without their escort of deputies. The sheriff had assigned his men to
important duty - that of covering all the roads around the township.
     Ted Granmore had escaped his pursuers, but they had found his car,
abandoned near a washed-out bridge. It wouldn't be safe for Ted to try to
travel farther.
     On the contrary, Sheriff Clemming could not predict Ted's immediate
capture. Ted knew the territory around Venetia, inside out, and it might take
weeks to find him. These hill lands had once been the habitat of outlaws, and
anyone familiar with the legends of those days could easily take advantage of
forgotten hiding places throughout the countryside.
     Added to that, the devastation caused by the recent floods would render a
man hunt practically impossible. Hence, the sheriff was resigned to the task of
keeping Ted boxed in within his present bounds.
     That Ted Granmore had murdered Titus Weldorf seemed a self-evident fact.
     When he viewed Titus's body, lying beside the car in the garage, the
sheriff turned to Mandon, who shook his head. In face of such evidence as this,
Mandon could hardly voice his previous belief in things that Ted had said.
     When Harry and Roy told how they had surprised Ted on this scene of death,
the case looked as good as closed. There was just one rift in Ted's favor.
     It came when the two witnesses declared that Ted had denied the murder,
claiming that he had found Titus dead in the car. But the statement was so
palpably absurd that the sheriff immediately rejected it.
     "Ted tried to bluff you," declared the sheriff. "Nobody would have been
here in the garage, lying in wait for Titus. If he'd been killed somewhere
else, how could he have driven himself home? If you two fellows had only come
here sooner, you'd have been in time to keep Ted from killing Titus."
     Roy gave quick response.
     "Yes, sheriff, it was too bad," said Roy. "If we'd only seen the lights in
the garage a little earlier, we'd know more about this case."
     "You saw the garage lights?"
     "Of course!" Roy was speaking in matter-of-fact style. "That's why Vincent
and I hurried down from the house."
     The sheriff stepped to the garage door and looked toward the mansion. The
rain was over and the lights in the house showed clearly, so the sheriff
assumed that the garage lights could be seen from the mansion.
     Harry could have testified that the garage lights weren't visible from the
house at the time Roy mentioned. Then, nothing could be seen amid the deluge
that was pouring from the sky.
     However, even though Harry said nothing, Roy coolly put a spike in such
testimony.
     "There were no strangers hereabouts," Roy told the sheriff. "At least, not
to my knowledge. Of course" - Roy gave a light laugh - "Vincent might be counted
a stranger, but I can vouch for the fact that he didn't leave the house all
evening. In fact, when he and I came down here to the garage, I was leading the
way."
     Roy ended by giving Harry a friendly thwack upon the shoulders, as though
he had done him a great favor. In a way, Roy had. He was clearing Harry
entirely. But it happened that Roy was doing himself an even better turn.
     Without so stating, Roy was indicating that he, himself, had been in the
house all the while, a fact which only Harry could deny.
     If he did deny it, Harry would thereupon put himself in a bad spot. He
would be admitting that he was at large at the time of Titus's death. People
might begin to believe Ted's wild yarn that someone else had slain Titus. That
someone else could be none other than Harry Vincent.
     Very clever of Roy Weldorf, to preserve his own alibi by affording one for
Harry! It gave Harry the distinct suspicion that Roy, not Ted, might have had a
hand in Titus's death.
     If Harry had seen the hasty way in which Roy had later tried to shoot Ted,
during the chase among the trees, the suspicion would have enlarged itself.
     However, only one person had witnessed that event: The Shadow.


     AT present, The Shadow was again in the offing. He was watching the
conference at the garage from darkness across the driveway. He saw the looks
that Harry exchanged with Roy. The Shadow was pleased because Harry maintained
a stolid expression, that showed no traces of the suspicion that he must
certainly have felt.
     Roy's actions on this evening were becoming more important in The Shadow's
mind. They were reaching the point where they demanded thorough investigation.
     Accepting Roy's testimony at it's face value, Sheriff Clemming stroked his
chin and stared at Titus's car, whereupon Giles Mandon gave an approving nod.
     "I wouldn't overlook a single clue, sheriff," declared Mandon. "When you
find Ted, he will still deny that he murdered Titus, and after all, no one
witnessed the actual crime. Often, a man's guilt or innocence depends upon some
vital but forgotten detail."
     Impressed by Mandon's suggestion, the sheriff began an inspection of the
car. He admitted, reluctantly, that Titus could have fallen from the driver's
seat, as Ted claimed. The keys were missing from the ignition lock, however,
and that proved a moot point. It indicated that Titus had driven the car into
the garage and drawn out the ignition key.
     Looking to the floor, the sheriff saw a silvery glimmer and found a ring
of keys. He tried them, and one fitted the ignition, lock. Promptly, the
sheriff called upon the others to bear witness to the fact.
     "Evidence against Ted Granmore!" announced the sheriff. "If Titus Weldorf
had been dead when Ted found him, the keys would still be in the lock."
     "That doesn't quite follow," began Mandon. "I'll admit a dead man couldn't
have drawn a key from a lock. But Titus might have taken out the key while
alive, and yet remained in the car a while."
     "What for?" demanded the sheriff. "There was a storm coming up. Why would
Titus stick around, instead of going into the house?"
     "I don't know," admitted Mandon. "I suppose he would normally have put the
keys in his pocket. There wasn't anything else to do with them."
     "He might have thought of using another key," put in Roy. "Maybe there was
something in the trunk, and he was wondering if he ought to take it with him or
leave it here. I've often puzzled over such things, myself."
     The sheriff took the keys to the trunk and unlocked it. Looking in the
rear compartment, he saw nothing at first, but finally observed the end of a
newspaper-wrapped package poking from the upright spare tire that occupied one
side of the compartment.
     Leaning in, the sheriff brought the package out. As he ripped off the
wrapping, his eyes went startled.
     Two objects fell from the sheriff's hands and thudded the floor of the
compartment. Together, those objects constituted a pair of square-toed shoes.
They were old shoes, of the size and the type that Titus wore, and they were
caked with dry mud, that broke off in chunks when the shoes thudded to the
floor of the trunk compartment.
     "So Titus did kill Foster!" spoke the sheriff, in a slow, dull tone. "The
gall of him, suggesting that we use his shoes as models to track down a
murderer! Well, we know that Titus murdered Foster and had evidence to get rid
of, but we're equally certain" - he swung to the others - "that Ted murdered
Titus, and we'll prove that, too!"
     "How?" queried Mandon.
     "By the bullet in Titus's body," returned the sheriff. "I don't think it
flattened, like the one that hit Corbey. When we find Ted, he'll still have his
gun, because he won't feel safe without it. We'll get that gun and clinch our
case!"


     AS the men turned from the garage, blackness receded. All during the
discussions, a black-cloaked figure had loomed in the very doorway as a silent,
unseen member of the group.
     So smoothly did The Shadow blend into the outer darkness, that it seemed
literally to swallow him. Watching from the thickness of the night, The Shadow
saw men separate.
     Mandon and the sheriff were going back to town, while Harry and Roy were
turning toward the house. The Shadow followed the latter pair, entered the
front door after them, and from the gloom of a huge hallway watched them go
into the library. The Shadow saw Roy turn and hand Harry his automatic.
     "You'd better keep this, Vincent," declared Roy solemnly. "I shouldn't
have borrowed it in the first place."
     "I didn't know you did borrow it," said Harry.
     "I picked it up while you were groggy," explained Roy. "And I'd have
killed Ted with it, if something hadn't tripped me. It's a horrible thing" -
Roy clapped his hand to his head - "to realize that you might have killed a
man!"
     "Wouldn't you have been justified?"
     "At the time, perhaps, but not now, Vincent. Since we've learned that
Titus actually murdered Foster, we know that there really is a feud. I'd be
perpetuating it, if I took a shot at Ted Granmore.
     "I hate this quarrel, Vincent! Now that it's my turn to kill, according to
the rules of vendetta, I'm going to show how I really feel by ending the whole
thing!"
     There was sincerity in Roy's tone, but it was very much like the double
alibi that he had given for himself and Harry. The fact made Harry wonder. He
wanted to believe Roy, because he looked like a man worthy of trust; but, after
all, he was a Weldorf and murder might run in the blood.
     It even occurred to Harry that Roy's way of stopping the feud could have
been by killing his own kinsman, Titus, and getting revenge on the Granmores by
blaming it on Ted. Anyone might stoop to any depths, in the midst of all this
muddle.
     Perhaps Roy sensed Harry's doubts. If so, he used the best system to quell
them. Roy turned the conversation to another subject. He began by stating that
he was sorry he had come to Venetia; that once he left, he'd never visit the
town again. He preferred the small city in Missouri where he had started in
business on his own, and was making out quite well.
     "It's great to be settled down," declared Roy. "Out there, we've forgotten
all about this stodgy town, and we never mention families. I'd like you to stop
off sometime, Vincent. I think you're one person who would understand."
     There was one person who already understood. He was The Shadow. Moving out
from the Weldorf mansion, The Shadow gave a low-toned laugh.
     The Shadow could more than surmise why Roy Weldorf had been so cagy on the
matter of his absence from the house, this evening. The Shadow's theory was so
good, that he was resolved to test it promptly.
     However, The Shadow had a matter of his own that needed immediate
attention. In this business where murder was being pinned on people right and
left, The Shadow did not care to share a portion of the burden, not even in the
mind of a person who trusted him. So The Shadow's course through the darkened
night led him back to Mandon's.


     SKIRTING the house, The Shadow heard voices from the enclosed porch. Margo
was talking to Connie, and they were discussing the tragic death of Titus
Weldorf, along with the flight of Ted Granmore. Corbey's death had dropped to a
minor subject, and whenever it chanced to be mentioned, The Shadow could almost
hear Margo shudder.
     Mostly, however, the two girls talked of Ted.
     "I never did like Ted," admitted Connie. "Maybe I should stand by my own
cousin, and I probably would if I belonged to any other family. But... well, I
just don't like to be considered a Granmore."
     Margo murmured that she felt she understood.
     "I suppose that Ted was justified," proceeded Connie. "That is, for
killing Titus Weldorf. Of course, Corbey's case was different. Still, it might
have been an accident. What do you think, Margo?"
     "I'd say it was an accident," replied Margo. "But what about Ted? Do you
think they'll find him after the floods have ended?"
     Connie laughed softly.
     "They call these floods!" she explained. "I wish these people could see
real ones! Why, when the Mississippi River spreads across its banks, it covers
a dozen counties larger than this one! Out there, they'd have to use boats to
hunt a fugitive like Ted!"
     "From the way the sheriff talked," declared Margo "they'll have to use
bloodhounds in this territory. But Mandon says that once they bring in dogs,
Ted will know they're after him. Mandon advises strategy."
     "So would I," said Connie. "Giles should be able to propose a better way.
I suppose we'll hear all about it tomorrow. So good night, Margo." Connie rose,
turned toward the door that led into the house, and paused, to add softly: "And
thanks a lot!"
     After Connie had gone, Margo waited hopefully. Very soon, she heard the
whisper that she expected. Springing to the open window of the porch, she found
The Shadow waiting there.
     Eagerly, Margo began to pour what facts she had learned, only to have The
Shadow stop her.
     "We'll get to the point, Margo," he undertoned. "You're wondering why I
killed Corbey."
     "Yes," admitted Margo, "I am."
     "The answer is quite simple," The Shadow informed. "I didn't kill him."
     "Then it was Ted, after all!"
     "Quite unlikely, Margo. I think we can place the blame on someone else."
     "Not on Connie!" exclaimed Margo. "She'd gone away, I know, but she was
back by that time -"
     Margo halted. Another name had come to her mind; that of Roy Weldorf. Only
too well did Margo remember that Roy had slipped Harry this same evening. It all
began to form a picture: Ted hunting Titus, while Roy, in his turn, was seeking
Ted. But The Shadow pursued the topic no further.
     "Watch Connie carefully," was all he said. "She may be drawn deep into the
case before it is all over. If anything serious threatens, contact Harry."
     There was a swish beyond the open window, the vague semblance of a cloaked
figure moving off between the hedges. Then only the fading whisper of a laugh
announced The Shadow's departure for a destination unknown.


     CHAPTER XVII

     MANDON'S STRATEGY

     ANOTHER funeral was over - that of Titus Weldorf. Harry had attended it in
company with Roy, and the two were back in the Weldorf mansion. There, with four
lawyers in attendance, they were going over Titus's papers when Giles Mandon
arrived.
     The setting was peaceful compared with the night when Titus Weldorf had
met a violent end. It was afternoon and the day was very bright, even though
the huge library carried an air of perpetual gloom. In fact, Roy needed a table
lamp in order to read the various papers that the lawyers presented to him.
     "The estate is quite in order," said Roy to Mandon, "and it looks as
though I am the principal heir, although I am not interested in any of Titus's
money."
     Though casually uttered, Roy's words could have carried a very sinister
significance, one that did not escape Harry Vincent. So far, vengeance had
appeared as the primary motive in the deaths of Weldorfs and Granmores. By that
token, Ted Granmore was marked as the slayer of Titus Weldorf.
     Perhaps vengeance was not the real rule of the insidious game. Murder
could have a profit motive. It certainly applied in Roy's case, even though he
brushed the thought aside so lightly. In fact, Roy's admission of disinterest
in the feud had been worrying Harry steadily ever since the other night. Lack
of one motive for murder could indicate another, where Roy was concerned.
     Coupled to that, Harry had heard from Margo. She was still staying at
Mandon's, by request of Connie Granmore. Though nothing had occurred to make
contact necessary. Margo had called Harry anyway. The reason was that Margo
feared doubts on Harry's part.
     He, too, had heard talk of how Corbey had been killed by a masquerader in
black, commonly accepted as Ted Granmore. Harry, of course, would know that the
person in question was The Shadow. Since The Shadow was absent, Harry could be
suffering the same qualms that had earlier afflicted Margo.
     So Margo had phoned, to put Harry right. He'd said nothing of his own
suspicions regarding Roy Weldorf. But Harry now had a good idea of why The
Shadow had departed. It was very likely that the mysterious investigator had
gone to check on matters that concerned Roy Weldorf.
     Harry's reflections ended when Roy spoke again. There was a grim chuckle
to Roy's tone, as he read off some of the items in Titus's will.
     "Fifty thousand dollars for a special mausoleum," read Roy. "Well, I'm not
surprised. Titus wanted it built on this hillside, so we'll put it there. People
can point to it and say: 'There lies the last of the Weldorfs.' I'm sure Titus
would like it."
     "The last of the Weldorfs?" inquired Mandon. "What about yourself, Roy?"
     "I'm not staying in Venetia, Giles. I'll liquidate the estate, see Titus's
silly endowments given homes for cats or whatever else he meant them for. I'll
sell this property and add it to the residue."
     "Including Titus's interest in Weldorf, Granmore, & Co.?"
     Nodding, Roy reached for another sheaf of documents and handed them to
Mandon.
     "The stock is to be sold," declared Roy. "However, there is one proviso:
It must never, under any condition, become the property of a Granmore."
     "I suppose that you will buy it," remarked Mandon. "You should, Roy. It's
worth much more than par."
     "That's one reason why I'm not keeping it," declared Roy, with a smile.
"I'm putting everything into cash, as I told you. It happens that you have
already offered better than par value for Titus's stock. So I'm letting you buy
it, Giles."


     THANKS glowed from Mandon's appreciative eyes. The glass factory was his
pride, and he had every right to regard himself as its real head. He wanted to
control the company outright, and Roy was willing that Mandon should.
     "You're paying liberally for Titus's stock," Roy told Mandon, "though I'm
sure it's worth the price you offer. Titus was a hard bargainer, but you've
done wonders with the business. I still have some shares of my own in the
company. Will you take mine at the same figure?"
     Mandon nodded, more pleased than ever. Smiling, Roy gestured to the group
about him.
     "With four lawyers present," declared Roy, "we should be able to draw up a
final contract. They can copy the terms that you and Titus agreed upon. And now,
Giles" - Roy's smile broadened - "you have only to acquire the Granmore
interest."
     "I've done as much," stated Mandon. "Ted's shares are already mine, though
I've promised him a ten percent bonus. Connie has agreed to sell me her interest
at the same price."
     "A nice girl, Connie," approved Roy. "Too bad she's a Granmore. After all,
it doesn't matter. I'm not proud of my family. I don't suppose that she's
afflicted with any misguided loyalty toward hers."
     "She isn't," returned Mandon. "I wish you could meet her, Roy. I know
you'd like her."
     Roy shook his head.
     "It wouldn't do for us to be seen together in Venetia," he declared.
"People would think that Connie and I intended to murder each other. Perhaps,
somewhere else -"
     He paused abruptly, threw a glance at the lawyers, who were drawing up the
contract for the stock sale. Then, taking Mandon's arm, Roy beckoned for Harry
to follow them. Leading the way from the library, Roy stopped in the hall to
draw his companions into a deep recess in back of a great stairway.
     The alcove was as gloomy as the library, for it's window was of thick
richly-stained glass, a product of Weldorf, Granmore & Co. that had been
installed here in the days when the two families had been friendly.
     Indeed, this was something of an ancestral alcove, for the Weldorf mansion
had been built by Roy's grandfather, and, strange though it seemed, the first
guests who had admired this alcove had been Granmores.
     The stained-glass windows threw a mottled cloud upon the faces of the men
in the alcove. Watching Roy Weldorf and Giles Mandon, Harry saw them dyed with
many colors. It was impossible to analyze facial expressions in that dim,
varied light. Nor could voices reveal the real thoughts behind them, for the
solemn setting produced low, restrained tones.
     "Before I leave Venetia, declared Roy Weldorf, "one thing must be settled:
the matter of Ted Granmore."
     "I've thought of that," spoke Mandon. "I know that you are opposed to
family quarreling, Roy, but people would begin to wonder, if you were totally
indifferent regarding Titus's death."
     "That's it exactly!" affirmed Roy. "It is my duty to settle all unfinished
business, and Ted comes in that category."


     ROY'S words drilled home to Harry. How nearly Roy had settled that very
business, the night when The Shadow had spilled him when his gun was trained on
Ted Granmore!
     Again, Harry remembered his own misgivings concerned Roy. If Roy had
actually killed Titus, he couldn't afford to leave Venetia with Ted at large.
Once captured, Ted would cry innocence, and people might believe him, unless
Roy happened to be around as Ted's relentless accuser.
     All this could be but fancy in Harry's mind. Possibly, Roy was trying to
do the right thing and go through with proper obligations that rested upon the
last surviving relative of Titus Weldorf.
     Apparently Mandon was accepting that viewpoint, though it was difficult to
form a true conclusion of anyone's sentiments in this strange light, where all
talk was subdued.
     "Ted confided in you before, Giles," pressed Roy. "Perhaps he would do the
same again, if given the opportunity."
     "You mean I might persuade Ted to give himself up?"
     "I think you could." Roy's tone firmed. "You would have to use strategy,
of course."
     Mandon considered the problem, then shook his head. He didn't seem to feel
there was a chance.
     "Corbey's death is the real trouble," asserted Mandon. "Ted would feel
that I would never forgive him on that count."
     "Let him think that you don't know he killed Corbey."
     "But we do know he killed Corbey," Mandon argued. "All we know about a
prowler in black was that Ted claimed he saw him. Up here, after Titus was
murdered, we saw both Ted and some one in black, but not together. Everyone
agrees that Ted was just putting on an act to fool us."
     As he finished, Mandon studied Roy in the queer light. Despite the many
hues that tinted Roy's face, Mandon managed to catch some flicker of its
expression. Sharply, he queried:
     "Do you agree, Roy?"
     "Frankly, I don't," returned Roy. "I'll tell you why, Giles. I saw them
both at the same time: Ted and this mystery man, in the garage." Roy swung to
Harry. "So did you, Vincent."
     "Hardly!" Harry forced a laugh. "I'd gone bye-bye when I stumbled over
Titus!"
     "So you had," Roy recalled. He swung to Mandon. "Well, Giles, you can at
least take my word for it."
     Mandon nodded.
     "I think it would work," he said slowly. "I'll pass it along to the
sheriff, Roy. When word gets out that there are two persons in the case, Ted
will learn it, wherever he is hiding. Newspapers have been missing from R.F.D.
boxes throughout the county. The sheriff is sure that Ted is picking them up."
     "Good enough," decided Roy. "Make it look as though the other man is a
suspect in Titus's murder, too. Then Ted will certainly communicate with you."
     "Perhaps not," returned Mandon glumly. Suddenly, his eyes showed clearly
in the dim light. "But Ted would certainly try to reach his cousin Connie!"
     Roy reached out and gripped Mandon's arm. Despite the tricky light, alarm
was plain on Roy's face.
     "Don't let Connie get mixed in this, Giles!"
     "Why not?" queried Mandon, in surprise. "Ted wouldn't hurt her. She's a
Granmore. I don't understand, Roy."
     Roy's grip relaxed from Mandon's arm, and his laugh came short and hard.
The confines of the alcove made the tone ugly, and a sneer showed on Roy's
lips, an expression that even the illusion of the lights could not dispel.
     "You should understand," declared Roy, "because you stated the reason,
Giles. Connie is a Granmore. If she met Ted, she wouldn't tell you where.
Promise me this, Giles: that you, or some trusted person, will keep Connie
strictly in sight from the time this new word goes out."
     "I shall, Roy," assured Mandon, "and I have the right person to help me.
We'll start working on this right away."
     By the "right person", Mandon meant Margo - a fact that Harry recognized.
Remarking that the sooner he saw Sheriff Clemming, the better, Mandon turned
away.
     Starting to follow, Harry glanced and saw Roy still standing in the
alcove. Flickering light threw stains of red and green across Roy's visage,
giving it a definitely satanic tinge, that faded suddenly as Roy stepped away
from the queer glow.
     Wondering whether or not that light had shown Roy Weldorf in his true
colors, Harry Vincent found himself wishing that The Shadow would soon return.
If Harry's guess proved right, new clouds of doom were gathering above the
murder-stricken town of Venetia!


     CHAPTER XVIII

     THE SHADOW'S RETURN

     THAT evening, Giles Mandon did more than announce his plan of strategy to
Margo Lane and Connie Granmore. He declared that it was already in operation,
and in proof, he displayed a copy of the evening newspaper. A special edition,
rushed through the press, carried a great scarehead shouting the possible
innocence of Ted Granmore, wanted for two murders.
     Connie read the headlines, then looked steadily at Mandon, to query:
     "Do you believe this, Giles?"
     "Frankly, I don't," returned Mandon, "but Roy Weldorf does. At least he
says he does, and he wants me to go through with it."
     "Was it Roy's idea?"
     "In a sense, yes. But I suppose that I was really responsible for its
development. You may not agree, Connie, but the only hope for Ted is to have
him give himself up and face all accusations squarely. That's why I've gone
through with it."
     Connie nodded. She saw Mandon's point perfectly. He had more to say,
however.
     "It may require your co-operation, Connie -"
     "I understand," said Connie. "You'd like me to answer the telephone
whenever it rings, just in case it's Ted who happens to be calling. I'm to
learn where he is, and tell you."
     "Exactly! So that I can go to see him; nothing more. I promise you this,
Connie: I won't take the sheriff to where Ted is; not until Ted personally
agrees."
     Mandon's statement was fair enough, and Margo, catching Connie's eye, gave
an approving nod. Gradually, deep wrinkles effaced themselves from Connie's
forehead, and she nodded, too. In fact, Connie's lips showed a smile when she
declared:
     "If Roy Weldorf is willing to give Ted a fair trial, who am I to object?
Since I have your word, Giles, that Roy will deal squarely, I'll go through
with it. I know that no Granmore is supposed to trust a Weldorf, but perhaps I
am the exception to the general rule."
     It was shortly afterward that Mandon drew Margo into another room and told
her to keep Connie in sight, whenever possible. Margo gave a firm nod in return.
She hadn't forgotten the other evening, when Connie slipped away, and this night
Margo didn't intend to let it happen again.
     "We'll take turns in the job," added Mandon, "so Connie won't know that
she is under surveillance. We mustn't let her weaken in her determination.
Ted's pleas might influence her, you know."
     Again Margo nodded, but she was thinking of something else. While murder
remained a mystery in Venetia, a huge burden still rested on The Shadow. It was
even on the increase, that burden, and the evidence lay in Margo's sight. Those
big headlines that blared the story of a mystery killer!
     The Shadow!
     Mandon saw Margo's shudder, but misinterpreted it. He thought that
Connie's friend was thinking in terms of Ted Granmore. Mandon tried immediately
to reassure Margo.
     "Ted is no fiend," declared Mandon. "He killed Corbey under stress, and he
thought he was performing a duty when he murdered Titus. Having done what he set
out to do, he will be sick of death. If he were innocent, it might be different.
A man who feels that the whole world has wrongfully denounced him, is apt to
prove dangerous."
     Mandon's words were actually quite soothing. All Margo needed was some
reassurance regarding The Shadow's status in the case. Convinced that Mandon
didn't believe that a mystery killer was in the thing, Margo showed immediate
relief.
     Again, Mandon came to a wrong conclusion. He thought that Margo wasn't
worried about any possible complications with Ted.


     THEN began the death watch. Though it began quite smoothly, the evening
became a horror. Never before had Margo known such suspense, not even when the
clock in Mandon's kitchen had ticked off minutes that promised catastrophe for
The Shadow.
     There was too much to think about, while waiting for that call from Ted -
the call that might never come. Connie began to show strain, and Margo felt the
same, though for a different reason. A new, and very serious, alarm was growing
in Margo's mind.
     Margo was sure that The Shadow had left Venetia with the full conviction
that it would take at least a week for the sheriff and his men to find Ted
Granmore. But that was before Giles Mandon had evolved his present strategy.
     As matters now stood, there was a chance that Ted would be found at the
end of the second day since Titus's death.
     More than that, the system itself seemed dangerous. Why, Margo couldn't
understand, but she at least sensed some of the factors in the matter. Seeking
to meet Ted in some obscure place might prove very serious for Mandon, or
anyone else who tried it. Even worse, this was the sort of emergency in which
The Shadow expected Margo to communicate with Harry.
     Such communication was impossible. If Margo called the Weldorf house from
Mandon's, it would be a give-away. Even to attempt to use the telephone was
taboo, since Mandon was keeping the line open for Ted's call.
     Only one thing kept Margo sane under the stress of this strange vigil:
Harry, at least knew what was going on, because he was over at the Weldorf
house with Roy.
     It happened that Harry was having troubles of his own, a fact which didn't
occur to Margo. Harry was solidly determined to prevent Roy from slipping away
alone, as he had on a previous important occasion.
     In his pocket, Harry had his gun, and intended to use it as a persuader
should Roy attempt to embark on another mystery trip. Harry was doubly on the
alert, because he had good reason to suspect that Roy had a gun of his own,
though Roy disavowed the use of weapons.
     They received one call at the Weldorf mansion, and it was Roy who answered
it. He talked briefly, then turned grimly to Harry, suggesting that they resume
the chess game that they were playing in the library.
     Harry's curiosity gained the better of him.
     "Who was it, Roy?"
     "Sheriff Clemming," Roy replied. "Calling up to say that they haven't
heard from Ted, as yet."
     "But Ted won't call the sheriff."
     "Mandon may, if Connie hears from Ted."
     That was all, but each succeeding minute carried greater tension, and with
the fleeting time, Harry felt further concern over the question that still
bothered Margo: namely, when The Shadow would return.
     At Mandon's there was a call from the sheriff, too. Connie answered, and
turned the phone over to Mandon, who ended the call abruptly and turned
apologetically to the girl.
     "I assure you, Connie," declared Mandon, "that I won't inform the sheriff
until after I've talked personally with Ted -"
     "I believe you, Giles," broke in Connie. "It's the strain of all this
waiting that worries me. If only -"
     Connie broke into a half sob and Mandon tried to soothe her. Discreetly,
Margo strolled to the front door, feeling that it would be better to have
Mandon call her, should Connie reach a pitch of hysterics.
     At last, Margo saw Mandon beckon. She approached, to find that Connie's
sobs had quieted.
     "I think that Connie ought to go to bed," decided Mandon. "The ordeal has
been too much for her."
     "But what if Ted calls?" blurted Connie. "I'll have to talk to him."
     "Margo can waken you," said Mandon. "You'll see Connie upstairs, won't
you, Margo?"
     Nodding agreement, Margo understood that Mandon wanted her to make sure
that Connie really went to bed. It was an excellent idea from Margo's
viewpoint, for it meant that Connie couldn't slip out of the house. Still, the
chance of Connie's doing so seemed slight, considering that she was obviously
anxious to be around if Ted phoned.


     FROM the window of Connie's room, Margo kept watching the twinkling lights
of Venetia, with the blackness of the hills beyond, wondering how close Ted
might be lurking, if at all.
     From the darkness of the room behind her Margo heard the bed creak, as
Connie settled into the pillows with a grateful sigh.
     Then, a similar sigh almost slipped from Margo's lips. Off above the
invisible horizon, she saw other lights, dots of red and green, that were
approaching like a brace of shooting stars. They represented an airplane
cutting through the night, making for the landing field near the outskirts of
the town.
     It wasn't the time for a commercial ship to be arriving. Those lights
could mean but one thing only:
     The Shadow had returned!
     Twenty minutes was all it would require for him to reach Mandon's, once
the plane landed. Everything was safe at last, though Margo wasn't taking any
chances.
     Starting from the room, she paused beside the bed to make sure that
Connie's clothes were really discarded and lying on a chair. Ostensibly,
however, Margo was only stopping to say good night to Connie.
     "Get a real nap," advised Margo. "Maybe it will last until morning. Ted
probably won't call tonight. And Connie" - Margo put her next words with all
the assurance that she could command - "I know that everything is going to turn
out right!"
     It seemed to Margo that nothing could matter, now that The Shadow had
returned. Only twenty minutes longer, and each of those minutes would lessen
the strain, instead of increasing it. Never in her life had Margo felt more
glad, until she took a step across the threshold. There, a sound halted her.
     The telephone was ringing from the floor below, and its discordant note
drummed hard in Margo's cars. She heard Connie gasp: "It's Ted!" and despite
herself, Margo believed that it was.
     Ted's call coming now, when The Shadow was almost at hand! To Margo, the
clangor of that bell was like a note of doom that could not be forestalled.
     Doom it was to be, again despite The Shadow!


     CHAPTER XIX

     DEATH'S MEETING

     THINGS began to move swiftly, too swiftly for Margo. Before she could even
leave the doorway, Connie came flying through, attired in dressing gown and
slippers, to dash downstairs.
     She arrived there while the telephone was still ringing, with Mandon
standing beside it. He raised his hand warningly, and Connie nodded. Her
nervousness was gone; she was ready for the task that she felt sure would spell
an end to a bitter feud.
     It was Margo who felt nervous, as she watched from the stairs to see
Connie lift the receiver and speak a firm hello. Then Connie was talking
eagerly.
     "Yes, Ted," she was saying. "This is Connie... Of course I've seen the
newspaper... Yes, I'd like to believe what it says - that some other person
killed Titus... Certainly, I'll see you!" Connie paused to give a light laugh.
"Why should I be afraid?... Right a-away, and alone?... Very well, Ted. At the
old quarry..."
     Hanging up the telephone, Connie turned to Mandon without saying a word.
No speech was necessary; he had heard her mention the quarry. Mandon gave a
musing nod.
     "The old quarry," he said. "The telephone must be still connected in the
watchman's shack. You know the place, Connie, where we used to get the
limestone for manufacturing glass. It's on the road that curves north between
here and the Weldorf hill."
     Connie knew the road, and Margo was taking mental notes. She hoped that
Mandon would deliberate a while. If only he would wait long enough for The
Shadow to arrive!
     "I'll go over there and talk to Ted," decided Mandon. "I think I can
persuade him to give himself up."
     Connie gripped Mandon's arm.
     "I'd better go along, Giles -"
     "No." Mandon shook his head. "It wouldn't be safe, Connie. Ted is
excitable. Sometimes I'm the only person who can handle him."
     "But I promised that I'd see him."
     "You will see him, Connie. I'll bring Ted back here. Go up to bed again,
and I'll have Margo stay down here." With a wave of dismissal, Mandon began to
muse again: "Which car will I take? The keys are in the sedan out front. But
the coupe will be better. I'll go to the garage and get it."
     Slowly, Connie was going upstairs, passing Margo on the way. Mandon threw
an upward look and shook his head reprovingly. Connie gave a pout, then
tightened her lips grimly. Turning abruptly she increased her pace up to the
room, her slippers clattering all the way.
     As soon as Connie was out of sight, Mandon spoke to Margo. "Connie must
stay here," he undertoned. "It really wouldn't be safe. Besides, I promised
someone -"
     He paused, and Margo understood that he meant Roy Weldorf. Margo could
readily recognize that Ted might not trust a meeting between two Granmores.
There were moments of silence, that Margo counted as a precious delay. Then:
     "As soon as you can, call the sheriff," ordered Mandon. "Tell him to have
his men surround the quarry hill."
     Margo's eyes opened wide.
     "You're going to turn Ted over?"
     "Certainly not!" replied Mandon indignantly. "I just want him to be handy
in case Ted surrenders."
     Mandon's voice had raised. Over it, Margo thought she heard the patter of
feet in the hallway above, and feared that Connie was stealing back without her
slippers. She gestured warningly to Mandon, who tilted his head and looked
across Margo's shoulders, up the stairs.
     "It's alright," declared Mandon, with a smile. "Connie hasn't sneaked back
to listen. As I said, if I have the sheriff there -"
     "You won't be able to bring Ted here," interposed Margo, seeking more
delay, "but you told Connie that you would."
     "I'll bring him," promised Mandon solemnly. "Sheriff Clemming will come
along, too. There wasn't any mention of the sheriff in my bargain with Connie."
Mandon paused, shook his head slowly. "It's the only safe way."


     MARGO was about to agree, when she fancied those footfalls again. This
time, she turned, but there was no one near the top of the stairs. Margo even
went a few steps up to assure herself that Connie wasn't eavesdropping. Mandon
decided to end that worry. He beckoned Margo out to the kitchen.
     There, while the same ticking clock marked off the seconds that were
bringing The Shadow, Mandon detailed things that Margo was to tell the sheriff.
He said he would blink in dots and dashes from the hill, after he talked to Ted.
     He was trying to arrange a simple code with his flashlight, using the
whole alphabet, which Mandon said he didn't entirely remember, when an
interruption came.
     It was a car motor starting. Mandon hurried out to the hall, with Margo
after him. Hearing the car whizz away, Mandon changed direction and dashed
upstairs. He paused at Connie's door only long enough to give a single rap,
then flung the door open.
     The bed was empty. Connie's slippers and kimono were lying on it, but her
shoes and dress were gone from the chair. She'd hurried into her clothes while
Mandon and Margo were in the kitchen, which meant that she had actually
overheard their conversation and was on her way to warn Ted. The car that had
left was Mandon's sedan, which he had left out front, with the key still in the
lock.
     Speeding downstairs again, Mandon grabbed the telephone. Margo thought he
was going to phone the sheriff, but he still intended to leave that to her.
Instead, he called the Weldorf number and began to talk to Roy.
     "Ted called from the quarry," began Mandon, "and Connie has gone there...
No, no, Roy! I didn't intend to let her go... Yes, I remember our discussion...
She misunderstood something I said, and thought I was breaking a promise I made
to her...
     "Yes, you can get there as soon as she can... I'll be right along, and the
sheriff will be coming, too... Let Connie handle it her way, unless she tries to
help Ted escape... Alright, Roy. I won't waste any more time..."
     Mandon hung up, and to all intents the call was over. So, at least, was
Margo's impression, but Mandon knew matters were different at the other end.
     In the Weldorf mansion, Roy was still talking to a dead line, and making
an excellent pretense for the benefit of Harry, who was standing by.
     "Why, no!" Roy spoke in a tone of surprise. "What would make you think I
had a gun, Giles?... The one the other night? That belonged to Vincent... Yes,
I'll let you talk to him..."
     Roy handed the phone to Harry, who said hello before he realized that the
line was dead. That word was the only one that Harry spoke. Taking advantage of
Harry's unguarded position, Roy swung a fist upward, past the telephone, and
clipped Harry squarely on the jaw.
     Reeling, Harry tried to swing the phone Roy's way. With a sweep, Roy flung
it aside and hurled himself, full force, before Harry could recover. Landing
hard on the floor, Harry took another jolt.
     Roy's hand snaked into Harry's pocket and brought out the gun it found
there. While Harry was still trying to shake off the results of the attack, Roy
dashed from the house, armed with the borrowed automatic.
     Over at Mandon's Margo was at the telephone. She heard Mandon's car
spurting from the garage and wondered if she ought to call the sheriff, as
Mandon had ordered. He'd shouted back the same instructions when he left. If
Margo didn't comply, she'd find it difficult, explaining matters afterward.
     Then, as Margo falteringly raised the receiver, her ordeal reached its
end. A voice spoke in her ear, but it wasn't from the telephone. It was a
whispered tone: The Shadow's. Simultaneously, a black-gloved hand took the
telephone from Margo's hand. Turning, Margo gave a glad cry.
     There stood The Shadow, arrived at last.
     It took only a few moments for Margo to blurt all she knew. Thrusting the
telephone back to her, The Shadow ordered Margo to complete the call to the
sheriff. Before she could raise the receiver, he was gone.
     Speeding away in the car that he had brought from the airport, The Shadow
was making for the old quarry on the north road. He could see lights climbing
the hill ahead, two sets of them, coming from different directions. One
represented Roy's car; the other, Connie's.
     Then, lower down, behind Connie's car, The Shadow saw lights that stood
for Mandon. Those lights were halfway up the slope when The Shadow's car
reached the bottom. He was gaining, but time was shortening. Doom was looming
closer.
     Death was scheduled to preside at that meeting by the quarry. The Shadow
knew!


     CHAPTER XX

     THE LONE WITNESS

     GUN in hand, Roy Weldorf stumbled along the path that led to the old shack
beside the quarry. He'd reached the hilltop first, as Mandon had predicted, but
his road hadn't taken him close enough to the place he wanted. He could see the
shack ahead of him outlined in the glow of lights that had arrived near it while
he was still on the way.
     Those lights blacked off, and Roy stumbled worse than ever, but kept up
his pace. Connie had reached Ted first, but there was still a chance that Roy
could arrive soon enough.
     The door of the shack creaked open. The dull gleam of an oil lantern
showed Ted Granmore, holding the same revolver that had served him in the past.
Ted heard Connie's voice and recognized it. He beckoned her into the shack, but
she stopped in the doorway.
     "Quickly, Ted!" Connie was breathless. "I have a car waiting! Take it -"
     Ted interrupted savagely. His hand snatched Connie's wrist; he twisted her
aside and poked his gun out into the dark. By the light from the lamp, Connie
saw his face, bleary and unshaven. His voice was a hoarse snarl.
     "Take it where?" he demanded. "Into a trap? I thought no one was coming
with you."
     "No one did," assured Connie. "I can explain later, if you call me at
Mandon's again. It's only... well, only that I wanted to keep my promise -"
     Ted interrupted savagely. He was looking toward the road along which
Connie had come, thinking that he saw the blink of car lights. Wonderingly,
Connie studied her cousin's face, realizing that he must be quite as desperate
as Mandon had pictured him.
     "If you'll listen to reason, Ted," began Connie, "and give yourself up -"
     "To pay for a crime I didn't do?" snapped Ted. "What chance does a
Granmore have? They'd accuse me of murdering my own uncle, if they could! You
should have heard them whitewash Titus Weldorf on the question of Foster's
death.
     "Why can't they turn that rule the other way around? Why shouldn't they
brand the Weldorfs the way they have us? They'd learn, soon enough, that I
didn't kill Titus! There's only one man who could have. His name is Roy -"
     Ted didn't add the hated name of "Weldorf". Another man had pushed into
the light. Roy was pressing between Ted and Connie thrusting the girl aside.
Roy's borrowed gun was jabbing close to Ted's ribs.
     "Drop that revolver, Ted!"
     All the fight seemed to leave Ted in one vicious spasm. As he snarled, his
fingers loosened and his revolver clanked from a stone. Pushing Connie farther
away, Roy lowered the automatic and stated calmly:
     "You are both coming along with me."
     His eyes shifted to Connie as he spoke, and Ted saw a chance. With a
savage fury, the hunted man hurled himself, bare fisted, upon the last of the
hated Weldorfs.
     In that moment, Connie's loyalty to her cousin seemed blanked by her duty
to aid a man in danger. Her scream was frantic.


     SWINGING to meet Ted, Roy tossed his gun across the other man's shoulder,
preferring to meet him in two-fisted style. Perhaps his recent success in
subduing Harry had given Roy a grand impression of his punching power, but it
didn't work in this case. Ted was too ardent with his grapple. Locking, the two
reeled into the darkness.
     Inside the shack, Connie saw the telephone. She sprang for it, to make a
call. Then, realizing that immediate aid was needed, she remembered Ted's
revolver. Pouncing to the doorway, Connie picked up the weapon and brandished
it toward the two figures in the gloom outside.
     "Stop it!" cried Connie. "I'll shoot!"
     She didn't mean the threat, but it took effect. The fighters twisted
apart, and she saw one - that she was sure must be Ted - launch himself in a
new fling that sent his adversary sprawling.
     Excitedly, Connie looked to see where Roy had landed, but he didn't come
back into the light. For the moment, Connie feared that he had gone over the
quarry edge. She gave a wild surge forward, and picked the wrong direction.
     It was Connie who felt the sudden skid of stones beneath her feet, and saw
the whitened mass of limestone that formed a perpendicular path below. She, not
Roy, had found the brink, and she couldn't halt herself!
     Blackness actually loomed up to receive her. But it wasn't the blackness
of the depths.
     A cloaked arm caught the girl, spun her about and flung her to the solid
ground. What might have happened to Connie was told by the clatter of the
loosened rocks that went plunging in her stead.
     Sprawled full length, Connie was too frightened to budge. A great splash
came floating upward as the stones reached the stagnant pool that filled the
quarry bottom.
     The girl hadn't an idea who had rescued her. She couldn't realize that
another figure had arrived upon the scene, intent upon halting the strife
between Roy and Ted.
     The Shadow, bent upon one rescue, had seen a more immediate need for
another. He had accomplished it by a lunge along the quarry edge. His strong
arm had scooped Connie back and flung her to safety after she had begun an
actual fall!
     Behind Connie's back, a black shape was still gyrating on the limestone
fringe. Only by inches had The Shadow saved himself from a plunge in Connie's
stead. He was half over the brink when the falling stones splashed.
     Clawing for the holds that his feet had missed, The Shadow was finding
them with his hands. Poor holds, that loosened in chunks each time he gripped,
only to have The Shadow grab anew for firmer rock.
     Then, as if the struggle were too much, The Shadow's twisting form took a
sideward slide farther along the brink. There were more tumbles of loosened
stones as the whitish limestone showed in all it's breadth, with no splotch of
black to dim it!
     Connie saw nothing of The Shadow's fateful struggle. Eyes fixed ahead, she
was watching a man against the dim light from the shack. That man was Ted
Granmore. He was on his feet, a trifle groggy, and his hands were clutching
ahead of him, as though seeking another grip on Roy's throat.
     Roy wasn't anywhere in sight, so Connie knew that he must be where he had
rolled when the grapple broke. All that Roy would need to do was rise and swoop
to make an easy capture, for Ted was really dizzy.
     Roy didn't make that move.
     As Connie looked for him, his gun spoke, instead. It knifed a sharp stab
from the darkness, straight for an open target in the shape of Ted Granmore. To
Connie, that shot was like a well-aimed arrow, for she witnessed its
instantaneous effect.
     Ted jolted high, his hands flapping toward his chest, only to fail before
they reached it. With a twisty topple, Ted Granmore caved forward, dead.


     IT had all the form of outright murder, that death stab from the dark, for
Ted was helpless, unarmed, when he became the target. With a low moan, Connie
crept forward on hands and knees to reach the body of her cousin.
     A great silence seemed to reign, save for faint splashes from the quarry
pool. Then, like a strange specter from another world, a black-cloaked figure
returned to the scene. It came over the quarry brink, that form in black,
inching upward cautiously.
     With the grip of gloved fingers, the pressure of soft-toed shoes, The
Shadow had literally clung to the quarry wall at the time when he had spread
full length along it. He'd dug hard into the spaces left by trickling stones,
and his fourfold grip had saved him.
     The Shadow's ears had heard the shot from the death gun, but he hadn't
been able to hurry his return. Rolling to solid terrain, he stayed flat, and
watched Connie as she bent above Ted's fallen form.
     Then, from somewhere on the road, The Shadow heard a man's long call. It
was answered by other shouts, below. Lights were coming up the hill.
     A glow showed cars parked crooked by the road. One was The Shadow's,
another belonged to Mandon. The third car, highest up was also Mandon's, but it
was the sedan that Connie had used. Near the cars was Mandon, gesturing to the
headlights that revealed him. As they reached him, men sprang out to join him.
No one had to point what lay ahead. Everyone could see.
     Roy Weldorf was on his hands and knees, trying to rise further. The effort
failed him, for a knee gave under him. As he heard men dashing toward him, Roy
clutched a gun from the ground and came up to his feet.
     It was Harry's automatic, but Roy had no chance to use it. Sheriff
Clemming and two deputies were upon him. Seeing their faces in the light, Roy
gave a weary smile and handed them the gun.
     "Never used it," he declared. "I dropped it deliberately, and took my
chances on a slugfest with Ted."
     They helped Roy to his feet and turned him toward the shack. Roy saw
Connie rise from beside Ted's body, and he gave his chin a worried rub.
     "I must have hit him harder than he hit me," declared Roy. "Hope I didn't
hurt him too much. Anyway, there he is, sheriff - ready to answer for the
murder of Titus."
     It seemed to dawn very slowly upon Roy that Ted had already answered for
anything he might be called upon to give account for. Roy's captors had shoved
him right above Ted's body, when their prisoner gasped his realization that his
recent opponent was dead. Then, shaking off his daze, Roy looked about.
     One by one, accusing faces met him, until his eyes reached Connie
Granmore. She, of all persons present, was the one who should have been most
vengeful. But Roy, saw understanding in her gaze. He said, quite simply:
     "I didn't kill him, Connie."
     As a Granmore, Connie should have denounced Roy's words as a lie. Ted's
death marked another score in the feud; a point for the Weldorf faction. Here
was Connie's chance to add a tally for her side, and with it produce the final
win for the house of Granmore.
     Only for a moment did Connie hesitate. Then, with what seemed total
disregard for justice and revenge, she said:
     "I believe you, Roy."
     Others present refused to accept that verdict. They took Roy and Connie to
waiting cars and started for the courthouse, under command of Sheriff Clemming,
who also ordered the bringing of Ted's body.
     For several minutes, many lights were shining, but none turned toward the
quarry edge. All occupied with other matters, none saw the motionless watcher
whose cloaked shape formed a curious blob upon the ground.
     Nor was The Shadow's car observed among the gathering of vehicles. The
last men to go down the hill assumed that it belonged to others of the
sheriff's band.
     When the scene was his, alone, The Shadow arose and moved toward the dim
shack. Eerie mirth whispered from his hidden lips. It seemed to creep across
the quarry edge, to be gathered by those very depths from which The Shadow had
saved two victims, one of them himself.
     Ghostly were the prolonged echoes that stirred back from the blackened
gulf that The Shadow had defied!
     Using the telephone in the shack, The Shadow called Harry Vincent and
received a reply. Uncertain as to Roy's destination, Harry had been forced to
call Margo, and that, plus other delays, had prevented him from getting
started. The Shadow gave Harry certain instructions, then went to his car.


     AT the local courthouse, Sheriff Clemming was giving his interpretation of
a third degree. He was waving Harry's gun in front of Roy's eyes, demanding that
the prisoner admit he had slain Ted.
     Headshakes were Roy's only answer, even when Giles Mandon inserted the
suggestion that Roy might have some claim to self-defense. Finally, Mandon said:
     "I'll go and see if I can find old judge Wilman. Roy needs a lawyer, and
I'm sure the judge will handle his case. I'll be back within an hour, sheriff."
     The sheriff hoped to make progress in that hour. He was tired of finding
murderers as victims, in this ceaseless feud. If Roy wouldn't admit that he had
killed Ted, Clemming intended to prove it despite him. So the sheriff
concentrated his verbal barrage on Connie.
     "I want the truth and nothing but!" stormed Clemming. "Remember, young
lady, perjury is a crime. I know you're opposed to all this feuding, and that's
why you're standing up for a culprit who don't deserve it. But you're going to
hang it on him, just the same, as sure as your name is Connie Granmore!"
     Defiantly, her lips tight pressed, Connie faced the sheriff. He put a
question sharply:
     "You saw the shot that killed your cousin Ted?"
     Connie nodded, slowly.
     "And you can name the man who fired it?"
     "No," returned Connie, not to be trapped by an impersonal question. "I
only saw the shot."
     "I see." The sheriff took a few short paces, turned suddenly and snapped:
"Who else was up there by the quarry;"
     "Why, only... only -"
     Connie tried to catch herself, too late. Her lips were starting to frame
the name "Roy Weldorf", which in itself would be the incriminating proof that
the sheriff needed. Connie didn't realize that The Shadow had been present,
too. Her escape from the quarry brink had seemed a weird whirl in which some
superhuman agency had saved her.
     Again, The Shadow came to Connie's aid. As she, the law's lone witness to
Ted's death, was about to brand Roy Weldorf as a killer, an interruption filled
the room, so forcefully that it totally drowned Connie's halting gasp.
     Like a token from the beyond, a strange, powerful mirth countermanded all
else. It rose in strident tone to a sardonic pitch, that reached a fierce
crescendo and shivered into untraceable echoes that murmured from every wall.
     Listeners froze, and stared in absolute bewilderment, as they heard the
laugh of The Shadow!


     CHAPTER XXI

     THE MURDER MOTIVE

     EYES were staring everywhere save toward the door from which The Shadow's
laugh had come. That door, only slightly ajar, was closing slowly but tightly.
     Shaking away the thing that he wanted to class as imagination, Sheriff
Clemming turned anew to Connie Granmore. He wanted her to repeat the name that
she had started to give, but Connie's lips had tightened. Angrily, the sheriff
thrust his face toward the girl's, determined to make her denounce Roy Weldorf.
     There wasn't time. The door was opening, and everyone was swinging in
alarm, fearful that they were to meet that dread being called The Shadow.
Instead, they saw Lamont Cranston enter, in his quiet, impassive way. His eyes
showed inquiring surprise as he stepped across the room.
     Ignoring Cranston, the sheriff spoke stormily to Connie, saying:
     "You saw Roy Weldorf murder Ted Granmore! You'll speak the truth -"
     A dry chuckle intervened. It hadn't any semblance to The Shadow's laugh,
that mirth that came from Cranston. As the sheriff wheeled angrily, Cranston
shook his head. He was drawing a long envelope from his pocket.
     "I wouldn't bother, sheriff. It isn't any use. This girl can't serve you
as a witness."
     Sheriff Clemming didn't appreciate Cranston's interruption. He gave a
contemptuous glare, then spoke:
     "I'm from Missouri, Mr. Cranston."
     "Quite a coincidence," returned Cranston casually. "I have just returned
from there. I brought along this certified copy of a certain legal document."
He passed the envelope to Clemming. "Look it over, sheriff."
     Then, while the sheriff was tearing open the envelope, the calm-mannered
Mr. Cranston added:
     "Granmores and Weldorfs might wish to kill each other. Granmores might
kill Granmores; Weldorfs might even kill Weldorfs. They could testify against
their own kind, too. One Weldorf could bear witness to a murder by another
Weldorf, sheriff, but not under all circumstances. No woman can legally serve
as a witness against her husband!"
     The sheriff's eyes were staring as he heard Cranston words. He gazed at
the duplicate document in his hands. It was a copy of a marriage certificate,
one year old, bearing the names of Roy Weldorf and Connie Granmore!


     WITH a happy sob, Connie reached Roy's arms. All need for pretext was
over. They'd come to Venetia separately, Roy as a Weldorf, Connie as a
Granmore, hoping to quell the feud between the families - Roy by hobnobbing
with Titus, Connie by talking to Ted.
     They'd felt that knowledge of their marriage would cause their feud-mad
relatives to reject them. So Roy and Connie had kept that information to
themselves.
     It explained why Roy had left the Weldorf mansion that night when Titus
was slain, the very time at which Connie had slipped away from Mandon's. Roy
had driven over to meet Connie, so that they could spend an hour together,
making plans. They thought they had gathered the situation well in hand, only
to have tragedy stalk anew. Tragedy which neither could fully understand.
     They could have told all this themselves, Roy and Connie. The strain of
present circumstance had made them feel that mention of their marriage would be
charged as a deception, to be used against them. It hadn't occurred to either
that the statement would automatically make Ted's death an unwitnessed fact,
with Connie out of it entirely.
     That vital point had been recognized only by Lamont Cranston, otherwise
The Shadow. He had used the same perspicacity that had earlier enabled him to
divine the true status of Roy and Connie, from remarks that they had made,
separately, to Harry and Margo.
     Roy's reference to "we" as living in Missouri, and Connie's mention of
floods in that vicinity, were the basis for Cranston's trip to the Midwest.
     Tension relieved, Roy was telling his story to the sheriff without
interruption. He'd wanted to reach Ted Granmore, to tell him that Roy sought no
vengeance for the death of Titus Weldorf. It could all have worked if Giles
Mandon had performed the function of intermediary, as originally arranged.
     Mandon's modifications had mixed Connie in the case. Unable to contact
Roy, she had dashed off to meet Ted. Hearing from Mandon, Roy had feared that
Connie's rashness would imperil her, particularly if she told Ted she was
married to Roy. Roy feared for Connie because she was now a Weldorf, and
therefore fair game for any Granmore who might be murder bent!
     Step by step, such facts were building their own logic, and all the while
Cranston smiled, for it was working out as he had foreseen. Nevertheless, there
was grimness in that smile. The Shadow had hoped to crack the case before it
bloomed with further death: namely, that of Ted Granmore.
     The Shadow's new entry, as Cranston, had been much like a last-minute
reprieve granted to Roy Weldorf. But he couldn't blame Roy for having hurried
the search for Ted. Such effort had been sincere enough on Roy's part, and he
wouldn't have attempted it had he guessed the coming consequences. Even Roy's
slugging of Harry could be forgiven. Roy had needed to get started, and carry a
gun with him, in behalf of his wife, Connie.
     The sheriff's telephone was ringing, and while Clemming still kept nodding
over Roy's statements, Cranston answered the call. It was for him, he said. A
plane was about to take off from the airport and he would have to catch it.
     So Cranston left, keeping to himself the fact that the call was actually
from Harry Vincent, supplying a much-needed report.
     Hard upon Cranston's departure, Sheriff Clemming thwacked a big fist
against his open palm, and exclaimed:
     "The man in black! That's who!"
     Eyes turned quizzically in Clemming's direction.
     "Can't you see?" the sheriff demanded. "He must have been up by the
quarry. He's the fellow who killed Ted Granmore in cold blood! Whatever he
thinks he is - a mysterious avenger, or what-not, he's been taking people's
lives: Corbey's, then Ted's -"
     Connie started to interrupt. She was calmer, and she was gaining definite
recollections of a black-clad rescuer who had saved her from a fall into the
quarry. It wasn't fair, this accusation of the mysterious personage in black.
Connie was about to speak for The Shadow, when he spoke for himself.
     Again, The Shadow laughed.
     This time, they saw him. He was standing openly in the doorway, his
burning eyes boring from beneath the brim of his slouch hat. His laugh carried
an off-key note. It was more than sinister; it had an insidious sound.
     He wasn't belying the sheriff's charge. Rather, he seemed to approve it.
Sheriff and deputies came to their feet, reaching for their guns.
     One term, alone, could fit their present impression of The Shadow:
     Man of murder!


     WHEELING before a single gun was fully drawn, The Shadow sprang off
through a corridor. They were after him, pell-mell, but he outraced them from
the courthouse. He was in a car, speeding off, flinging back a defiant laugh,
when they arrived upon the steps to blaze useless shots after him. Scrambling
into their own cars, the sheriff's men started in pursuit. Roy and Connie
followed.
     The Shadow's trail was leading out of town, until it reached the foot of
the Granmore hill. There, he swung for the grade, but not before pursuers spied
his taillights. The chase roared up the hill, passing some cars parked near the
top. It didn't stop until it reached the mansion. There, The Shadow hurled his
car along the rough driveway, right to the front door.
     On this occasion, he made for the front door the moment he was out of his
car. The deputies thought that it would block him, for the house was closed,
with old Tukes gone.
     They were halting their cars along the driveway, and were springing out to
aim at the cloaked fugitive, when they saw the front door swing. The Shadow was
actually entering the house!
     Pursuers poured after him. The Shadow had waited for them in the hallway,
but when they spied him, he wheeled before they could aim their guns. He was
diving for the very room where Foster Granmore had been murdered on that stormy
night of his return from prison.
     But The Shadow, as on the earlier occasion, changed the direction of his
stride outside the door itself.
     With a twist, he dodged back into the space close by the stairs. Not an
eye saw that deceptive swirl. The door of the room was closed, and the hall was
dark. Perfect strategy on The Shadow's part, but the illusion was to gain a
helping hand.
     There was a clatter as the door of Foster Granmore's room was yanked
inward from the other side. Arriving men saw a figure against the dim glow of a
single lamp. A figure that sprang back into the room, giving the effect that the
man in question was The Shadow, continuing his mad rush.
     Before the startled man could slam the door again, the deputies were upon
him, covering him with guns from every angle. Over their shoulders looked the
square-jawed face of Sheriff Clemming.
     The square jaw hung open. Eyes bulged above it. For the sheriff was
viewing the last man he expected to see: Giles Mandon!
     On the table lay a great batch of green. Its mass represented the listed
bonds that had disappeared at the time when old Daniel Weldorf met a sudden
end, five years ago.
     That Mandon had brought them here was evident, for the bonds were lying
beside a metal box that the sheriff remembered having seen in Mandon's safe.
     Above the fireplace was an open square of tile, which showed an empty
space. Mandon had come here to plant the missing bonds in the cache that once
held Foster's embezzled funds. Instead of forty thousand in cash, Mandon was
hiding a quarter million in other wealth!
     Tense stillness was broken by The Shadow's laugh. No longer was it faked
to lead the law along a wrong trail to a right destination. That work was
accomplished. The Shadow's tone was an accusation of crime, a taunt flung at
Giles Mandon, who recoiled when he heard it.
     Others turned to see The Shadow stepping in from the hall. Instead of a
fugitive, the cloaked avenger loomed as a champion of justice.


     "YOU killed Daniel Weldorf, five years ago," The Shadow told Mandon. "You
pinned suspicion on Foster Granmore by revealing him as an embezzler. Then,
generously" - The Shadow put sarcasm in the word - "you exonerated him of
murder by giving him an alibi, saying that he was with you at nine o'clock, the
time of Daniel's death."
     "Foster had no exact knowledge of the time element. He never guessed that
his alibi was really yours, Mandon. By accusing him on one count, clearing him
on another, you bluffed the law completely, Mandon. So Foster went to prison,
and you were regarded as an honest man.
     "However, you couldn't reap your golden harvest. It wasn't until after you
murdered Daniel Weldorf that you learned that he had sent a list of his bonds to
a New York bank."
     Pausing, The Shadow gestured to the space above the hearth. Resuming, he
declared that Mandon must certainly have searched the Granmore mansion until he
found the embezzled cash that Foster had hidden. Mandon had used that cash
toward buying stock in the glass factory, largely Foster's and Ted's.
     Then The Shadow painted a startling picture of happenings on the night of
Foster's return from prison.
     "You came from your own house, Mandon," accused The Shadow. "Corbey
accompanied you, but he stopped at the footbridge. You put on old shoes that
had belonged to Titus Weldorf. You made tracks to the road, then followed the
solid gravel and reached the window yonder.
     "From outside that window" - The Shadow's finger pointed - "you murdered
Foster, after Titus had gone. You were the man whom Ted encountered in the
dark!"
     Mandon glowered as the others stared. The Shadow further declared that
Mandon had dashed to the footbridge, leaving Titus's tracks behind him.
Changing shoes again, he had helped dump the bridge that Corbey had already
loosened, sending it down into the gorge.
     "I saw the wreckage that night," spoke The Shadow. "By morning, the flood
had washed it away. If the bridge had crashed as early as you said it had,
there would have been no debris left by evening!"
     Almost ashen, Mandon's face revealed that The Shadow had spoken facts. No
longer could Mandon hope to dispute this amazing investigator who had suspected
his part so early in the game. Then The Shadow's tone struck a solemn note, as
he mentioned his chance meeting with Corbey.
     The Shadow had foreseen that Mandon would carry the chain of murder
farther; but the cloaked fighter was out of things at the time of the next
stroke. Slugged by Corbey, The Shadow wasn't able to be present when Mandon
went out with Titus to the latter's car. There, Mandon deliberately murdered
Titus with Ted's gun!
     Returning into the house, Mandon had replaced the gun in the safe. Instead
of leaving in his own car, he'd driven Titus's, carrying its dead owner back to
the Weldorf garage. There, he'd picked up a car of his own, hidden somewhere
near, and had driven to the factory.
     Meanwhile Ted, falling for Mandon's bait of letting him learn the safe
combination, had regained his gun.
     Going over to demand a showdown regarding Foster's death, Ted had found
Titus murdered! He'd fled in the face of the false evidence against him; and
Mandon had later coaxed the sheriff into finding Titus's old shoes, which
Mandon, himself, had planted in the back of the dead man's car!
     In between had come the death of Corbey - delivered, not by The Shadow but
by Mandon, who had halted his car below his own house when returning from the
factory.
     For Mandon, hearing Corbey's threat to expose someone, had mistaken the
cry. He didn't know about Corbey's capture of The Shadow. Thinking of his own
hide, Mandon thought his accomplice, Corbey, was turning against him.
     So Mandon fired the fatal shot and sped back to his car. Therewith, he
disposed of the one man, Corbey, who could have revealed his game from the
inside. Safer than ever, Mandon had then decided to murder Ted Granmore and put
the blame on Roy Weldorf, continuing the fake vendetta.
     The stroke had come this evening. Arriving to find Roy struggling with Ted
near the quarry shack, Mandon had grabbed up Roy's discarded gun. Connie's near
fall into the quarry had occupied The Shadow with her rescue at a most untimely
moment.
     Ted had felled Roy with a stunning punch, and Mandon, creeping in, had
stabbed the shot to Ted's heart. He'd fled, leaving the gun close to Roy, who
found it while recovering from his fray with Ted.
     "The reason for these murders lies before you," concluded The Shadow,
gesturing to the stacks of bonds. "From man after man, Weldorf and Granmore,
Mandon was buying up shares in the glass works, and death was an aid to that
game.
     "His finish was to have all dead except Roy and Connie. With Roy
incriminated for Ted's death, and Connie a witness against him, crime looked
perfect.
     "Roy had given options on the last of the Weldorf holdings in the company.
With prison facing him, he would never have canceled the options. Connie, who
hated the town and all it represented, was sure to sell the last of the
Granmore shares. An honest enough procedure on the part of Mandon, who was
paying proper prices for the stock. But it promised something for the future."


     STEPPING forward, The Shadow pushed Mandon aside and picked up a sheaf of
bonds, gesturing them in the direction of the empty space beneath the
mantel-piece.
     "These belonged to Weldorf, Granmore & Co.," reminded The Shadow. "Once he
owned the business outright, these bonds would be Mandon's property, should they
be brought to light. Planted here, he could find them whenever he chose. A week
from now... a month... or a year!
     "A lucky find, dating back five years. Bonds supposedly hidden by Foster
Granmore, branding him, at last, as the slayer of Daniel Weldorf, and thereby
explaining the whole feud between the families. This wealth, a quarter million
dollars, would then belong to Giles Mandon, friend of Weldorfs and Granmores,
and impartial killer of both!"
     All eyes turned on Mandon, the one-man vendetta who had slain four persons
with his imaginary feud. Perhaps the fact that he had managed those deaths
separately made Mandon believe that he could deal with combined numbers, even
when The Shadow was included.
     Springing about, Mandon sprang for the window, crashed through and landed
on the ground outside.
     The Shadow bounded after him. From across the lawn, car lights blazed,
flicked on by Margo. Beside their glow rose Harry Vincent, with a ready gun.
He'd gone to Mandon's, contacted Margo, and they had watched Mandon return home
and leave. After a call to Cranston, they had followed.
     Trapped between The Shadow and his aiming agent, Mandon made a quick dart
for the front of the house. He was half around the corner, waving a gun, an
open target for the aiming automatics. The Shadow was about to press a trigger
and drop Mandon, wounded, as a trophy for the law, when a great roar sounded.
     Reserve deputies had arrived out front, with shotguns. Hearing shouts to
stop Mandon at all cost, they had spotted him in the car lights and responded.
A deluge of close-range shot felled Mandon permanently.
     When Roy and Connie came dashing out from the house with Sheriff Clemming,
they stopped short to stare at the master murderer, who had found death as his
own reward.
     The face of Giles Mandon wore an ugly grimace, unlike anything in life.
Not even when The Shadow trapped him, had he let his features betray the inner
evil that was his. He'd done his utmost toward the extermination of Weldorfs
and Granmores, but Mandon had failed.
     One of each family survived, and they were united. To Roy and Connie would
go full control of the factory their friendly ancestors had founded, and their
holdings would include the reclaimed quarter million that Giles Mandon,
himself, had restored under the persuasive pressure of The Shadow.
     When Roy and Connie looked for The Shadow, he was gone. He had joined
Harry and Margo in the waiting car, and it was coasting silently down the hill,
unnoticed. It's taillights passed a turn and blinked from sight. Not until then
did The Shadow's parting token arrive.
     It came in the form of a triumphant laugh, that picked up echoes from the
great gray walls of the massive Granmore mansion, where The Shadow's quest had
begun and ended.
     Strange mirth that faded, trailing, yet lived in the ears of those who
heard it. Walls plucked that laugh and echoed it, as though the huge house,
itself, approved The Shadow's conquest over crime.
     Such was the farewell of The Shadow!


     The End