counterfeit of Bragg's voice. 'I entered here to learn what you might think of my disguise.'
'It is remarkable!' declared Whitburn. 'It deceived me.'
'That is sufficient. One other point. If your telephone service has been restored, I should like
to make a call to New York.'
Whitburn had forgotten the telephone. Turning to the instrument, he raised the receiver and
clicked the hook. He shook his head. The line was still dead.
'My call can wait,' asserted The Shadow. 'In the meantime, follow these instructions. Leave
the island, taking Stephen and Bragg with you. Also remove the cat. It is important that our
enemy does not learn that a rescue was effected.'
'But he may send some one back here to look around -'
'That is unlikely. A spy would not approach closer than Lake Marrinack. Any sign of life upon
Death Island would attract an observer. If all appears deserted, I doubt that an agent would
approach.'
WITH this statement, The Shadow turned. He left the professor's study and walked through
the corridor to the stairs. He reached the tower where he picked up his bag. Leaving by the
skylight, he boarded the autogyro.
Then came a remarkable maneuver. The flat roof offered very little opportunity for a take-off.
The only factor that favored The Shadow was a breeze that came through the trees from the
front of the house. But The Shadow kept his ship facing straight toward the tower at the
back.
The propeller began to whirl; the fan above the ship spun also as the motor roared. Then the
autogyro started straight for the tower at the rear, traveling in the direction of the wind. An
observer might have expected an immediate crash.
None came. Instead, the autogyro spun about. Braking one wheel, The Shadow caused the
ship to turn in a twisting circle. The right wing grazed the tower; then the about face was
completed. The autogyro was headed directly into the wind; for the ship was moving toward
the front of the house.
The quick whirl had given momentum to the autogyro. It produced the added impetus upon
which The Shadow had counted. The windmill blades were lifting; the speeding propeller
aided. The ship took off before it had reached the front of the house.
Rising, its ascent became almost vertical. The undercarriage scraped the twigs of the
nearest tree; then the autogyro was clear.
Bragg, down at the dock, heard the roar of the motor. Staring, the man saw the autogyro
rising above the trees. He wondered what this ship was doing at Death Island. Anxiously, he
hastened to the house to report to Professor Whitburn.
ONE hour later, The Shadow landed at the Newark airport. Disguised as Bragg, he lost no
time in getting to a taxicab. He entered the car, carrying his bag. He gave the driver an
address in Manhattan.
Arriving in the city, The Shadow left the cab and called another. He wanted to break the trail.
He did not wait to put in a call to Burbank. That could come later; the sooner that he
performed Bragg's mission, the more effective would future measures be.
The new cab reached the Hotel Halcyon. This building was an old-fashioned structure,
located in a dingy part of town. Yet it was the type of place that an old man like Professor
Whitburn might have chosen for a temporary residence in Manhattan. The Shadow entered
the lobby.
He spoke to an idling clerk. In Bragg's voice, he inquired for Professor Whitburn. The clerk
looked at the register; then nodded.
'Room 406,' he said. 'The professor came in late last night. Said to send up anybody who
asked for him.'
There were loungers in the lobby. As soon as the arrival had entered the elevator, one man
spoke to another. The speaker was the man whom Hildrow had left at the dock on Death
Island, the only survivor of Nuland's crew.
'That's Bragg,' he whispered to his companion. 'I know the guy. We've been watching him
along with others. That's why the chief put me here.'
'You're sure its him?'
'Positive!'
'Come on, then.'
THE pair entered the second elevator and told the operator to take them to the fourth floor.
They were following less than two minutes after The Shadow. He, however, had reached the
fourth floor and was already knocking on the door of 406.
Some one unlocked the door. Guised as Bragg, The Shadow entered to find two men
standing in what appeared to be the outer room of a suite. In a quizzical tone—a perfect
counterfeit of Bragg's—The Shadow asked:
'Where is Professor Whitburn?'
'Is your name Bragg?' questioned one of the men.
The Shadow nodded.
'All right, then,' said the fellow. 'I'll call the professor. He's taking a nap in his room. Say,
Jerry'- this was to the other man— 'show Mr. Bragg that model engine that the professor
wanted him to see.'
Jerry nodded and turned to a suitcase. The other man entered an inner room. Playing the
part of Bragg, The Shadow stood idly just within the door. His rounded face looked
complacent; his hands were resting in his coat pockets.
'Stick 'em up!' came a sudden order.
Jerry had brought a .38 from the suitcase. Whirling, he was covering this visitor whom he
thought was Bragg. He saw an amazed expression come over the droop-lipped face.
Thinking he had a soft victim, Jerry was totally unready for what occurred.
The Shadow half staggered backward, just as Bragg might have done in the face of a gun.
As his left hand came up empty, his right was momentarily out of sight, due to a slight turn
that he gave his body. Then he wheeled the other way. His quick-moving right had whisked
an automatic from his pocket.
Jerry never had a chance to press the trigger on which his finger rested. The automatic
barked with split-second speed. Jerry staggered; his hand lost its grip on the gun. Again,
The Shadow whirled.
This quick move was a timely one. The fellow who had made pretense of summoning
Whitburn had turned immediately when he had gained the other room. He, too, was covering
the form of Bragg. The flash of the automatic brought him into action. Quickly, the fellow
fired.
His bullet sizzed by the spot where The Shadow had been; inches only from the place where
The Shadow now stood. The revolver bullet flattened itself against the wall. Before the
would-be killer had a chance for new aim, another burst came from The Shadow's .45s.
Another human target plopped to the floor. The Shadow, swinging inward as he fired, had
picked his mark with perfect precision. Moreover, he was swinging toward the inner room,
to deal with any others who might be lurking there.
Then instinctively, he whirled toward the outer door. Gifted with uncanny intuition, The
Shadow had not only divined that other foes were absent in the inner room; he had also
guessed the spot from which a new attack might come.
THE unlocked door was swinging open. Framed in the portal were the two crooks from the
