directly beneath. Off beyond the range of that deep-tinted lamp lay a gloomy region fringed with darkness.
Like the interior of a camera, the place was shrouded in black. Not even the weird personage who had turned the switch could be seen amid that manmade twilight. It was not until two whitish objects crept like living creatures upon the surface of the table that the presence of a human being became fully apparent.
By a strange metamorphosis, those white objects became hands that rested easily upon the table.
Amazing hands they were, with long, tapering fingers that combined delicacy with strength. Upon the left hand glowed a reflected luminosity that cast long, sparkling shafts of color toward the bluish light above.
These were the rays of a glowing gem—a marvelous stone called the girasol. A species of fire opal, this jewel possessed an ever-changing power that caused it to run the gamut of the spectrum.
From the deepest hue of mysterious crimson, the girasol turned to rich purple; then, through no apparent cause, it glistened with bright azure, changing back again to a reddish tone that cast illusionary sparks into the air.
That remarkable jewel was the token of the man who owned it. It identified the being who occupied the somber room. It was the emblem of The Shadow!
This hidden room, lost somewhere amid the scurry of haste-mad Manhattan, was The Shadow's sanctum. Its location known to him alone, the man of the night came to this spot whenever he chose.
Surrounded by the blackness which to him was home, The Shadow used this sanctum to prepare the thrusts and sorties that formed his relentless campaign against the foes of right.
To-night, The Shadow's mission became apparent a few moments after his hands appeared within the light. Although the hands seemed to project from darkness, freed from the arms to which they belonged, the presence of The Shadow manifested itself as a low, soft laugh resounded through the room.
Shuddering tones of sibilant mockery marked the anticipation which The Shadow sensed as his hands crept away, then reappeared, clutching two envelopes within their grasp.
The soft, smooth hands opened the first of the wrappers. Sensitive fingers spread out the note that Harry Vincent had prepared. Unseen eyes scanned the coded lines. Then the blue writing faded, word by word, until blankness alone remained.
Again The Shadow laughed. He had read his agent's message. He had learned the details of Harry Vincent's discovery in Room 1408 and the subsequent verdict of Detective Joe Cardona.
SILENCE prevailed while those mystic hands held the second envelope. The eyes of The Shadow were studying the inscription that was scrawled upon the face.
The hands turned the envelope over; then back again. The fingers carefully tore the end from the envelope. They drew forth a folded sheet of paper.
This sheet, unfolded, bore writing in the same scrawl that was on the envelope. The message showed signs of hasty writing. It carried no greeting; it bore no signature. It consisted entirely of information, which read as follows:
Zipper Marsh is a dirty double-crosser and I'm spilling the dope so you can get him. He's pulling a job over near Jamaica Tuesday night. Cracking a safe in house belonging to Adolph Grayson. Second floor, first room on right, little room off big room. Has fixed it to get there at 2:30, as that is when first watchman goes off and other comes on. Second watchman is fixed to slide out until job is done. Zipper works alone. You can get him with the goods.
The note lay upon the table, beneath The Shadow's hands. Supplemented by the data sent by Harry Vincent, its origin and purpose took on an obvious touch.
'Zipper' Marsh and Dobie Wentz had worked together. A split had come between them; now Zipper was going it alone. Evidently, Dobie, feeling himself powerless to cope with his former friend, had prepared this message to The Shadow.
Had Zipper Marsh learned of Dobie's action? Was that the reason for Dobie's death? If so, why did Dobie still have the note when found by Harry Vincent? Had he managed to get away, to reach Harry's room unmolested, only to die of poison previously administered by an enemy?
These were questions that confronted The Shadow. His keen brain was weighing them as his concealed eyes still focused themselves upon the note. Each phrase, each word—every letter and every characteristic of writing, was under the survey of that calculating gaze.
A blank piece of paper came into view, drawn there by The Shadow's left hand. Upon it, the right hand wrote two names, side by side:
Harry Vincent—Dobie Wentz
This pair of names formed a paradox. The living man was a trusted worker of The Shadow; the dead man was a double-crossing gangster. What connection lay between them?
Harry Vincent, in his note, had expressed an ignorance of Dobie Wentz's existence. But the appearance of Dobie's body in Harry's room was too startling to be a mere coincidence. It proved that the gangster—or some one who knew him —had evidence that Harry was linked to The Shadow.
A new and surprising situation had arisen—something which was virtually unique.
Gangsters might cross their pals; they might live in hatred of one another; but all possessed one common thought—enmity toward The Shadow.
Stools might squeal to the police; but never to The Shadow. He was the terror of the underworld, the one power that was a constant, unyielding threat. True, he would prove a powerful ally; but never before had a gangster been so daring as to seek The Shadow's cooperation.
As the mere bearer of a note like this, Dobie Wentz would deserve the sentence of death by the twisted laws of the bad lands. Even the expression of desire to communicate with The Shadow would mean doom if mentioned in the underworld.
The long finger of The Shadow's right hand rested upon a single phrase in the scrawled message.
Has fixed it to get there at 2.30—
Those were the most vital words in the entire letter. They meant a time of action. The crux of the situation would be reached then.
It was Tuesday night to-night! Not yet midnight, plenty of time remained before the appointed minute.
Then, in the home of Adolph Grayson, a solution to this odd problem would most likely be possible.
The light clicked off. The room was in darkness. A shivering peal of laughter rang through the gloom. Its mocking tones were filled with strange, unfathomable import. They carried a hidden meaning that was more expressive than words.
The laughter died away, its weird echoes shuddering into rippled oblivion. The sanctum was empty. The Shadow was gone, prepared to meet the challenge that had come through a man now dead!
CHAPTER V. THE TRAP IS SET
'You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Carleton.'
Douglas Carleton arose from a comfortable chair and bowed to the young lady who was seated close by.
'You will pardon me, Virginia,' he said. 'I shall return in a few moments.'
Virginia Devaux watched Carleton as he strode across the spacious living room of her father's home.
Tall, handsome, and immaculately attired in perfectly fitting evening clothes, he presented an excellent appearance. Virginia sighed as he disappeared from the room.
The daughter of a multimillionaire, a member of the highest social circles, Virginia Devaux had gained the envy of all her feminine friends when she had become the fiancee of Douglas Carleton.
He was one of the most popular young clubmen in New York. He was wealthy in his own right. His engagement to Virginia Devaux had been a heart-crusher to a score of eligible young ladies who had longed for the honor which Virginia had gained.
Yet the girl's sigh was not an expression of love for Douglas Carleton. Somehow, it seemed to reflect a note of discontent, coupled with unhappiness. For Virginia had come to regret her promise of marriage to Carleton.
Worst of all, she could not have explained her feeling. Perhaps she had never really loved Douglas; perhaps his almost constant presence at her father's home had become boring. At any rate, Virginia had postponed all thoughts of marriage in spite of Carleton's protests.
Now, she could postpone them no longer; and instead of meeting the situation with resignation, she was
