letterhead of a New York hotel. Lamont Cranston read it at a glance.
I shall be unable to meet you at the club as I had hoped. I do not expect to be there until the end of the
week. But I am at home to-night. If you choose to call, you are welcome. But remember—
The abrupt termination of the message was a reminder of the previous conversation, when Zuvor had
mentioned the dangers which surrounded him. The note was signed 'Richard Albion.'
Lamont Cranston left the Cobalt Club. He summoned a taxicab. He drove directly to the home of Prince
Zuvor.
When he reached his destination, he stood looking at the house, from the street. He did not appear to
notice a large sedan that was parked opposite the house. He went up the steps and rang the bell.
He was admitted by the Russian servant, who conducted him upstairs, as soon as he gave his name. He
was ushered into the front room, where the wolfhound walked silently over to greet him.
Prince Zuvor appeared.
'This is a pleasure,' exclaimed the prince, in a tone of welcome. 'I had not expected you to accept my
invitation.'
Lamont Cranston rose leisurely, and grasped Prince Zuvor's hand.
'You did not expect me?' he asked.
'I did not,' replied the prince. 'You recall, of course, the dangers that I mentioned. I had supposed that
you would rely on your better judgment, after you had considered the matter.
'This house is watched. Those thick curtains are evidence of that fact. They are not merely ornaments.'
Lamont Cranston shrugged his shoulders.
'The danger does not worry me,' he said. 'I would even welcome a bit of danger. My life is one of
leisure. It grows monotonous at times.'
Prince Zuvor looked toward the large dog that was standing by Cranston. He snapped his fingers as a
command for the wolfhound to retire to the corner. Then his gaze became fixed upon the floor, and
Cranston detected a look of surprise upon his face.
'What is it?' asked the millionaire.
'Nothing,' replied Zuvor, lifting his head. 'I was perplexed for a moment, that was all. Your
shadow—here on the floor. It seems grotesque, when I look at it.'
Lamont Cranston smiled as he sat down.
'It must be the arrangement of the lights,' observed Prince Zuvor, glancing about the room. 'It actually
startled me for a moment.'
He looked toward the floor again, then added: 'It is different now, when you are sitting down.'
'A shadow,' observed Cranston, 'is a very unimportant thing. It has no life; in fact, it has no existence. It
is, actually, nothingness.'
'Perhaps,' returned Zuvor, 'but when one has undergone the experiences that I have, even a shadow can
seem very real. Often I have seen shadows that were indications of living men. A shadow may betray the
person who owns it, my friend.'
HE took a chair opposite the millionaire, and looked at Cranston thoughtfully.
'I have heard,' said Zuvor, 'that there is a man whom they call The Shadow. He is a being who comes
and goes, in the darkness of night.'
'Interesting, if true,' remarked Cranston. 'I should be pleased to meet the fellow.'
'The Shadow;' mused Prince Zuvor, 'is considered a reality by men of the criminal class. They mention
his name with awe. They know that he exists—yet they have never managed to trace him.
'Even his purpose in life is a mystery. Some claim that he is a detective; others, that he is an archcriminal
who thwarts the schemes of other crooks, and profits through them.'
'Even more interesting,' laughed Cranston. 'Where did you learn of this mysterious person?'
'Through refugees whom I have aided,' replied Prince Zuvor. 'Some of the unfortunates from Russia
have been forced to mingle with low associates. Whenever they appeal to me for aid, I learn all about
their actions. Two or three have mentioned The Shadow.
'My knowledge of criminal activities in New York is by no means small. I could give the police important
information if I chose to do so. But criminals mean nothing in my life. Thieves—robbers— burglars—I
fear none of them. Those who oppose me are more than criminals. They are agents of Moscow.'
'They are watching you now?' questioned Cranston.
'They are watching me always. You have told me very little of your past life, friend Cranston; but I know
that you were familiar to some extent with the espionage system of the czarist government. It was
considered to be an organization of clever men; was it not?'
Lamont Cranston nodded.
'The czar's agents,' said Zuvor, 'were children compared to the men who now receive their orders from
Moscow. Why? Because the Red agents can find a haven in any country.
'Here in America, they are received by communist organizations. They are protected.
'Silent, and unseen, they hide behind a perfect smoke screen. They let the American radicals blurt and
fume; they remain silent, and direct the work. No man can cope with them.'
'Not even The Shadow that you mentioned?'
'The Shadow? He may be a power among criminals. Faced by the Red organization, he would be
helpless. His cloak of mystery would prove a thin, ineffective disguise. Whether he works alone, or
depends upon other men, he would be utterly unable to combat the agents of Moscow.'
'Who directs them?'
'Ah!' exclaimed Prince Zuvor. 'That in itself is a mystery. It is said that they work in groups, and that the
leaders—men of nerve and cunning— receive their instructions from one higher up, a Red Envoy, whose
power is greater than that of a government ambassador.
'These are facts which I have heard; but I cannot say that they are thoroughly reliable. My own
knowledge is imperfect. I only know that the Moscow government pretends to have no connection with
the Red Envoy.'
'He must be more remarkable than The Shadow,' observed Lamont Cranston, with enthusiasm. 'Have
you ever encountered him?'
'No!' exclaimed Prince Zuvor. 'May I never do so! Those who are watching me are his agents. That is
why I exercise great caution.
'I do not know when they may decide to strike. My life is a defensive one. I am not afflicted by fear—if
that emotion should dominate me, I would go insane. My one controlling power is caution. Constant
caution.'
'Your Russian servant. Can you trust him?'
'Ivan? He is a relic of the czarist time. Faithful and honest. He obeys my commands implicitly. He would
sacrifice his life if he thought for an instant that I was in danger.'
'Why do you stay here?'
'I have work to do. While I still possess sufficient freedom to aid those friends of the old regime, I shall
stay.
'The invisible meshwork of the Red organization has been growing closer. Soon it will close— threatening
to ensnare me. Then I shall leave—as Berchik left; by a way known only to myself.'
'In the meantime,' said Lamont Cranston thoughtfully, 'you must remember that I am your friend. While it
would be inadvisable for me to become entangled in the snare of which you speak, still, I may be able to
