That skillful treatment settled him into temporary unconsciousness, as effectively as if he had received a knockout punch.
The buzz from the switchboard ended before The Shadow could pick up the earphones and fake Pinkey's voice.
Without delay, The Shadow cleared the counter and took to the stairway. He did not have to halt to pick up Pinkey's pass-keys. They were dangling from the senseless lookout's pocket. The Shadow carried them along as he went past.
The stairs offered a more rapid route than the elevator, which The Shadow would have had to bring down from the fourth floor. When he reached 4 B, The Shadow unlocked the door and shoved it inward.
He twisted back across the hall, aiming an automatic for the center of the lighted room.
There was no sign of Shark and Hood. A stir of wind through an opened window showed the route that they had taken. They had called Pinkey to learn if the route was clear. Receiving no reply, the two had cleared through the window, to the roof of an adjoining building, then down a fire escape.
When The Shadow reached the window, he heard the snort of a starting motor in an alleyway below. A high wall made it impossible to stop, in time, the get-away that Shark and Hood were making.
They had taken most of Shark's luggage with them; but in their haste they had left a few items. There was an unopened package of laundry in the corner. The table drawer revealed odds and ends that Shark had not waited to junk.
His gloves removed, The Shadow picked through an assortment of pencils, paperclips, paper and envelopes.
With those items was a small microscope. The Shadow held the tiny magnifying glass beneath the light. It was powerful, despite its miniature size; the sort of glass that a watchmaker would use.
The laundry package in the corner gave The Shadow a connecting clue. From his pocket The Shadow produced the change that the cab driver had brought him from the drug store.
There was a whispered laugh from hidden lips as The Shadow's forefinger rubbed the surface of the new half dollar and detected a slight roughness. It was on the tail side of the coin just beneath the eagle's beak; a marking that to the eye was no more than a scratch.
Using the powerful lens, The Shadow enlarged the view. The message appeared in letters that had been engraved beneath a microscope by an expert hand:
SILSAM
9 p. m.
3-6-6-3-7
PRESSING the wall switch, The Shadow extinguished the lights. A sibilant laugh whispered through the darkened apartment. The Shadow chose the window as his exit. He reached the fire escape of the adjacent building and descended by the route that crooks had taken.
It was just eight o'clock. The Shadow had one hour in which to anticipate new crime. Shark Meglo would be due for a surprise when he attempted to deliver robbery and death. The Shadow no longer had need to seek Shark's trail. He could arrive ahead of Shark tonight.
The Shadow had waited for an opportunity like this one. His plans were made; nothing, apparently, could interfere with them. The Shadow had made due allowance for the unexpected.
So The Shadow believed. Yet, within the next half hour, freakish chance was to produce a dilemma of a sort that The Shadow had never before encountered.
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW VANISHES
TEN minutes after his departure from Shark's apartment, The Shadow was riding in the same cab that had brought him to the killer's hide-out. That cab was The Shadow's own possession; its driver, Moe Shrevnitz, was an agent who served The Shadow.
The Shadow was no longer an invisible passenger. His cloak and hat were packed away beneath the rear seat. The lights of an avenue showed a calm-faced rider who wore evening attire. The Shadow had taken on the character of a man named Lamont Cranston, a millionaire globe-trotter. He was on his way to the exclusive Cobalt Club.
The Shadow had long guarded the fact that he used the identity of Cranston. It was not a fictitious personality; there was a real Lamont Cranston, for whom The Shadow doubled. Cranston spent most of his time abroad and kept his whereabouts unknown, so that The Shadow could appear in his stead.
Posing as Cranston, The Shadow had access to many important places. That helped him immensely in his battles against crime. It kept The Shadow's real identity a complete mystery, even to his own associates.
No one had ever guessed who The Shadow actually was.
Tonight was to produce a chain of circumstances that would change all that. Though The Shadow did not foresee it, he would soon have to adopt his own identity to best continue his incessant warfare against crime.
Riding to the Cobalt Club, The Shadow was thinking only of the message on Shark's half dollar. The Shadow had suspected that a big-shot lay behind Shark's crimes. Some one who visited wealthy gem owners and picked certain ones as victims. That big-shot, a man of supposed good standing, had given Shark orders for tonight.
The victim was to be a millionaire named Silsam. There was only one possible choice: Hugo Silsam, the copper king. As Cranston, The Shadow had met Silsam; but had not known that the millionaire owned many valuable gems. That, however, had been the case with all of the recent gem robberies.
The victims had been persons who had recently purchased rare jewels without making the fact public.
Each robbery and its attendant murder had revealed that the dead men were collectors. If Silsam ran true to form, his gems must be worth at least a quarter million.
Nine o'clock.
The Shadow knew the reason for that hour. Silsam was entertaining friends tonight, at his old brownstone home on Madison Avenue. The affair was simply a dinner party; the guests would be gone by nine, thus giving crooks the chance to tackle Silsam alone.
The figures that had accompanied the coin message obviously represented the combination of the safe at Silsam's home.
THE cab reached the Cobalt Club. The uniformed doorman bowed as he recognized Lamont Cranston.
The tall, leisurely club member frequently used taxis around town, and kept his big limousine across the street from the Cobalt Club. Cranston used the big car when he rode home to his New Jersey estate, late at night.
While the doorman was pointing out a parking space for the cab, The Shadow strolled into the club. The attendant was busy at the desk and did not notice Cranston pass. With a slight smile on the lips of his masklike face, The Shadow entered a telephone booth. He called the home of Hugo Silsam, and asked to speak with the copper king.
The name of Cranston worked like a charm. In a few minutes, Silsam was on the wire. In a quiet even tone, The Shadow asked if Silsam would be at home, later in the evening. Silsam's dryish cackle delivered a pleased affirmative. Cranston would be welcome at any time.
A slight murmur over the wire informed The Shadow that Silsam's guests were still present. Hanging up the receiver, The Shadow left the telephone booth. Maintaining Cranston's unhurried style, he strolled out to the street noting the clock above the desk.
Twenty-five minutes past eight. Plenty of time to reach Silsam's before nine o'clock and stay there until crooks arrived. The presence of one guest would not cause Shark Meglo to postpone his thrust. Crooks would never suppose that Cranston, the chance visitor, was The Shadow.
The attendant was still busy at the desk, and The Shadow observed the fact. The fellow happened to look up, just as Cranston went through the door; but he caught only a fleeting glimpse of the tall stroller's head and shoulders.
Before the doorman could learn whether Cranston wanted his limousine or a taxi, a big official car pulled up in front of the club. From it stepped a pompous man of military manner, whose broad features wore a shortclipped mustache.
The arrival was Ralph Weston, New York's police commissioner.
'HELLO, Cranston!'
Weston ejaculated the brisk greeting before The Shadow could move away. Showing Cranston's slight smile,
