automatic clipped his shoulder. With a frenzied cry, the man toppled sidewise and struck upon his right
elbow. Hunnefield's body flattened in front of him.
Though wounded, Brooks was not through. Had he desisted then, the false butler might have received no
further token of The Shadow's power. But Brooks was determined to fight to the end.
Flopping forward upon Hunnefield's form, he dropped his right fist upon the secretary's chest and, with
glowering eyes directly above the sights of his revolver, aimed to kill the one who menaced him from the
floor.
Glowering, Duster Brooks was staring straight into the burning eyes that shone from beneath the hat brim.
Like The Shadow, he was facing a gun muzzle, for the menacing automatic had turned to cover him.
Brooks had a life-sized target — the entire figure of the black-garbed fighter.
The Shadow, in opposition, had only one mark at which to aim. The butler's revolver muzzle was the
center point, with the human face behind it. It was a race for the first shot.
If Brooks won, woe to The Shadow! If The Shadow won, his aim would have to be perfect, for if he
missed the slender opportunity, Brooks would fire a shot that would wound, even though it failed to kill.
Fingers pressed upon triggers. The shots barked almost with simultaneous sound.
But The Shadow's missile was delivered a split second before Brooks sent his shot. No time watch could
have calculated that fractional difference. It could be measured only by the space of time required for the
bullet to leave The Shadow's automatic and reach its mark. The leaden messenger struck just as Brooks
was firing. Planted squarely between the false butler's eyes, its powerful impact swung the gangster's
head backward with jarring force. The revolver hand moved upward with the jar. The bullet from the
butler's gun swished the top of The Shadow's slouch hat and crashed into the wall beyond.
THE SHADOW rose from the floor. The duel of death was ended. By a margin so narrow that it
seemed incredible, the black-garbed rescuer had gained the victory over his stubborn foeman. Duster
Brooks, hardened fighter from the bad lands, had fired his last shot.
The Shadow glided noiselessly across the room. He paused by the door that led to the veranda. His
sharp eyes saw a man coming from the doorway of the studio.
It was Alfred Sartain. Recovered, but still a trifle groggy, the millionaire had been attracted by the shots.
In his hand he held a revolver that he had taken from his desk drawer.
The Shadow slipped into the outer darkness. Sartain did not catch even a glimpse of his disappearing
form. The millionaire hurried to the spot where two men lay. He found Brooks dead; Hunnefield
recovering from the stunning blow that he had received.
While Sartain was attempting to revive the secretary, The Shadow reappeared. Unseen, unheard, he
glided toward the outer door that led to the stairway. Bulging beneath his cloak was the brief case that
contained the hat and coat which he had worn here.
Outside, The Shadow paused. He stood, like a protecting phantom, watching Sartain at work. A noise
came from the elevator shaft. Quickly, The Shadow swished to the head of the stairs.
The elevator door slid back. Three men with revolvers sallied forth. They were detectives, and the keen
eyes of The Shadow recognized their leader as Joe Cardona, ace of Manhattan sleuths.
All danger was ended now. The police had arrived. Alfred Sartain would be protected against further
attack. The tall figure in black glided down the stairway, a few seconds before one of the detectives— at
Cardona's order— went to investigate that quarter.
In the penthouse living room, Alfred Sartain looked up toward the ace detective. Hunnefield's eyes, now
opened, were staring in wonderment. Both millionaire and secretary were ready to give their version of
the affray; but their stories would be incomplete.
Sartain, at the point of death when rescued, had gained no more than a blurred impression of the
personage who had rescued him. Hunnefield, struck down by the gun which Brooks had wielded, had
not seen The Shadow.
Mystery shrouded this strange rescue. Two dead gunmen in the studio; the slain butler in the living
room — these men could not tell what they had seen.
The plot of death had failed. The Shadow had departed, leaving no proof of his weird identity!
But the watchers in the little office high up in the Brinton Building had seen the whole strange occurrence.
Their well-laid plans had been destroyed by the weird personage in black. Their start in crime was
thwarted. They would try again!
CHAPTER VI. THE PROFESSOR PLANS
A SEDAN turned from a Long Island highway and entered a driveway toward a gloomy mansion. It
kept on past the house, and its brilliant headlights shone upon an oddly shaped structure that resembled a
gigantic cheese box. A grumbled order came from the man who sat beside the driver.
'Pull up over there, Ricordo.'
The tones were those of Professor Folcroft Urlich. Responding, Larry Ricordo brought the car to a stop
beside the circular building. He followed Urlich when the professor stepped from the sedan.
The mammoth cheese box, tucked out of view behind the old mansion, puzzled Larry Ricordo as he
approached it. The gang leader studied every feature of the odd structure. Although circular, it seemed to
possess a pagoda style, on a flattened scale.
First, Urlich and Ricordo entered a sort of portico that ran entirely around the building, under a low,
extending roof, which was supported by iron posts set at intervals. Ricordo noted that the floor of this
peculiar ground-level porch was formed of metal plates.
Professor Urlich pressed a button beside a double door at the front of the building. A few moments later,
the two doors swung inward. They closed after the men had entered.
The pair now stood within a second circular passageway that had walls on both sides. It was a gloomy
corridor that appeared to run completely around the building.
A single door showed opposite the portal they had entered. The professor ignored it.
As they walked along this strange hall, Ricordo noted again that he was treading upon plates of metal.
They circled halfway around; then stopped at a door set in the inner wall.
Here Professor Urlich pressed another button. The metal door slid upward, revealing a circular staircase
that led both up and down.
Urlich conducted his companion upward, through a huge cylinder that resembled a water standpipe.
When they came to the top, they emerged into a large circular room, the second story of this odd
building.
'My laboratory,' remarked Professor Urlich.
LARRY RICORDO blinked as they headed for another stairway in the center of the room. He saw all
sorts of strange devices: crucibles, huge tubes, bottles upon shelves, machines, and models of all
descriptions. Two silent men, clad in white coats and aprons, were at work there.
The outer walls of this circular chamber were windowless; but the outer rim of the roof was designed
with skylights, and Ricordo noted workbenches set near the wall, so that they could gain illumination from
outside during daytime hours.
The gang leader's inspection ended as Professor Urlich conducted him up the central spiral. They
