this evening. He, like the secretary, would be a good witness to the unfortunate accident that was
destined to befall Alfred Sartain.
But Brooks did not actually step out to the veranda himself. He merely took it for granted that Howard
Broderick was still there. Hence he did not see the strange metamorphosis that occurred beyond the
French window.
THE man who had introduced himself as Howard Broderick had carried his brief case, absent-mindedly
tucked beneath his arm. Alone, in the darkness, he became suddenly busy with the compact satchel.
Stooping, he opened it by the rail of the veranda. Out came objects, invisible in the gloom.
The gray hat dropped from the head that wore it. The light overcoat dropped from arms and shoulders.
Other garments took their place. A long black cloak, a dark, broad-brimmed slouch hat — these formed
Howard Broderick's new attire. The other garments went quickly into the brief case, which deft hands
deposited against the wall of the penthouse.
A figure raised itself beside the rail. Barely discernible in the glow from the metropolis, it formed the
sinister, ghostly shape of a tall being clad entirely in black. Even the hands of this weird phantom were
now covered with black gloves. The only spots of light that showed were two blazing eyes that flashed
from beneath the brim of the slouch hat.
Howard Broderick's part was ended. This visitant's statement of identity had been false. No longer
guised as a man — instead, a fantastic creature of darkness — he had become The Shadow!
Sinister foe of crime, amazing master of the night, The Shadow had arrived at the spot where death was
stalking. His tall, eerie shape was rising higher as it poised upon the broad rail of the veranda. Long arms,
stretched upward, gripped the projecting slope of the roof.
The figure of The Shadow swung outward. It poised over nothingness; then swung upward. Unyielding
hands drew the lithe body to the safety above.
The Shadow, unseen, his form now but a mass of moving blackness along the steep incline, was scaling
the sloping roof of the penthouse, bound upon a precarious mission which involved the life of a man
already doomed to die!
CHAPTER III. THE TRAP ACTS
THE watchers high in the Brinton Building were studying the penthouse scene with renewed interest.
Their evil eyes were upon the corner window, where light had now replaced the former blackness.
Beyond the framework of the studio window, plainly visible through the small panes of glass, sat Alfred
Sartain. The millionaire was busy at his desk.
While Thomas Jocelyn and Larry Ricordo stared in silence, Professor Folcroft Urlich spoke in low,
continued tones, still maintaining his lecture style.
'Our man is in the trap,' he explained. 'As yet, he has not experienced its effects. That time is coming
shortly. Here is the means whereby we may study him more closely.'
The professor drew a pair of opera glasses from his coat and focused them upon the scene across the
street. He tendered the glasses to Jocelyn, who drew nervously away. Ricordo, however, seized them
eagerly.
The former gang lord laughed gruffly as he gained a close-up view of the doomed man within the studio.
He noticed a perplexed look that appeared upon Sartain's face. Then the millionaire stepped from the
field of vision as he suddenly arose from his desk. Ricordo passed the glasses back to Urlich.
'He has noticed the noise from the radiator,' decided the professor, as the three men watched Sartain go
toward the corner. 'The noise is due to the air-dry attachment which is now being used on many
radiators. These devices were installed throughout the penthouse, during the renovation.'
While Sartain was stooping by the radiator, the professor continued his theme.
'The air-dry attachment,' he explained, 'is a commercial device which is designed to remove moisture
from the atmosphere. By experimenting with these articles, I learned that they could be adjusted so that
they consume oxygen very rapidly. Sartain does not know it, but that piece of mechanism is sucking the
life-giving element from the air in his studio.'
'What if he detaches it?' inquired Jocelyn, in a weak voice.
'He cannot,' responded the professor. 'It is firmly fixed in place. He might manage to smash it, if he
understood its purpose. But he simply considers it as a noise-making nuisance. He will decide to forget
it.'
Professor Urlich's statement was proven when Sartain went back to the desk. Nevertheless, the
millionaire continued to glance impatiently toward the corner. They saw his hand press a button upon the
desk.
'He is ringing for some one to attend to the radiator,' observed Urlich. 'The call will not be answered.
Brooks has plugged the bell. Neither he nor the secretary will hear it.'
A FEW minutes passed; then the watchers saw Sartain raise his hand to his forehead. Ricordo, taking the
opera glasses, observed that the millionaire's face seemed a trifle pale. Professor Urlich chuckled as
Sartain again pressed the button on his desk.
'He wonders why no one comes,' remarked the scientist. 'It is not the noise of the radiator now. Sartain
is beginning to feel a faintness, due to the lack of oxygen in the atmosphere. He will go to the window
next.'
The prediction proved true. Sartain went to the window and tried to open it. He tussled with the fastening
to no avail. The framework would not yield.
'It is firmly fastened,' stated Urlich. 'Jammed into place, by the painters. He will give it up. Watch him go
to the door.'
Alfred Sartain staggered momentarily as he crossed the room. The effort at the window had weakened
him. He tried the knob of the door, and tugged furiously. The portal failed to open.
'That knob is ingeniously arranged,' explained Urlich. 'This is the first time that the door has been shut
since it was fixed. It will not turn the heavy latch at present. After some one opens the door from the
other side — as Brooks or the secretary will do later on — the action from the outside will make the inner
knob function perfectly. There will be no clew — after Sartain is dead.'
The millionaire seemed groggy. Urlich chuckled. Ricordo looked on in admiration. He was gaining a great
respect for Urlich's ingenuity. Jocelyn, trembling, but fascinated, put an anxious question.
'Suppose that he breaks the windowpanes?' asked the financier. 'If he realizes that he needs air?'
'That will be next,' lectured Professor Urlich. 'It will prove futile' — the scientist paused as they saw
Sartain stride unsteadily toward the window— 'because the original panes were all removed during the
renovation. The new ones are all of bullet-proof glass.'
Sartain had seized a large book. They watched him throw it at the window. The volume rebounded from
a pane. The millionaire hurled a small ash stand. It, too, dropped back.
Lifting a chair, the trapped man began to pound at the barrier. The iron framework and the panels of
special glass withstood his effort. Sartain staggered back to the desk, almost on the verge of collapse.
'He is nearing the end of his resources,' observed the scientist, taking the opera glasses from Ricordo.
'Ah — he is using the telephone. That, too, will be futile.'
Sartain, leaning on the desk, had the receiver to his ear. The line was dead. He was joggling the hook
