society's upper crust. The Shadow had his own methods of handling evildoers. He demonstrated them in the case of Wally Drillick.
As the stubby revolver thudded the floor of the speeding taxi, The Shadow's free hand gained a grip on Wally's flailing left arm. The crook performed a half somersault; came up to tug at a hand that held his throat. Wrenching his neck free, Wally planked his head against the cab door; it tilted his chin upward at a desirable angle. The Shadow's fist delivered a well-placed jab.
Wally Drillick felt the jolt in two places: against his lower jaw and the top of his skull. It had a telescopic effect, as if his head had suddenly compressed. The tuxedoed crook crumpled on the cab floor. That punch was the sort that remained good for ten minutes.
The Shadow spoke an order to the cab driver. The taxi changed course; threaded among narrow streets.
Meanwhile, a tiny flashlight glimmered in the back seat.
The Shadow plucked objects from Wally's pockets and examined them in the glow. A soft, whispered laugh sounded from invisible lips beneath the hat brim.
Rolling Wally face downward, The Shadow peeled off the criminal's topcoat. He replaced all items, including the revolver, in the overcoat pocket. Wally's derby was lying on the seat. The Shadow bundled it with the topcoat, and laid both in a corner.
The cab stopped in front of an empty side-street house. The door opened. The Shadow stepped to the curb and gave a sibilant hiss. Two men arrived from the shelter of the house steps; at The Shadow's order, they hauled Wally's senseless form from the cab and carried it through a basement door beneath house steps.
From the sidewalk, The Shadow spoke an order to the cab driver. The taxi wheeled away. Obscured in the darkness, The Shadow moved in the opposite direction. He was gone when his two agents came from the house, locking the basement door behind them.
The Shadow had temporarily disposed of Wally Drillick. The smooth-working sharper was out of the running tonight. That did not mean that Duke Unrig's plans would not go further. On the contrary, The Shadow had arranged for them to continue; but not with Wally as the active worker.
Tonight's crime was to reach a point that The Shadow desired. That point would mark its finish. Like Wally Drillick, Duke Unrig was to experience a jolt. One that the big-shot would remember.
Crime that seemed sure was due for failure. Such was The Shadow's forecast.
CHAPTER II. WALLY'S SUBSTITUTE
HALF an hour later, the streamlined taxicab stopped at the glittering entrance of the Top Hat Club. The cab had picked up a passenger on the way - a keen-cut young man who made a better appearance than Wally. When he stepped from the cab, this new passenger was wearing Wally's derby and topcoat.
The young man was Harry Vincent, The Shadow's most trusted agent. It was Harry's job to take over Wally's route so that crooks would not know that tonight's crime was slated for failure.
At the cloakroom, Harry left the hat and topcoat. He was wearing a tuxedo of his own; and he had transferred all Wally's belongings to its pockets, with the exception of the gray kid gloves. They remained in the topcoat pocket.
The Top Hat Club was not overlarge. Its tables were placed on steplike tiers, forming three sides of a hollow square. The central space was for dancing; later, there would be a floor show. The entertainers alone used a small stage at the far end of the dance floor.
Lights were dim. It was difficult to recognize people as they walked between the tables. That suited Harry Vincent. It was one reason why The Shadow had sent him here openly. No one would remember Harry afterword.
It was not a case of Harry passing for Wally Drillick. The Shadow had been watching Wally for some time, and knew how the smooth man of the underworld worked. Duke Unrig never arranged contacts at the places where Wally usually went. Information always awaited Wally at some night spot where he was unknown. If something went wrong, Wally would simply pass as a chance visitor.
Proof that Wally was unknown at the Top Hat Club was apparent from the card that bore the name of James Ludas. That card was at present in Harry's pocket.
So was the card that held the table reservation. Harry found the table - a small one set for two persons.
It was just past a large pillar, two steps up from the dance floor. Harry showed the reservation to a waiter and took one of the chairs.
There was a lighted lamp on the table; it was shaded. Harry had no difficulty shifting to a position where his face was away from the glow.
It was not long before an assistant head waiter arrived, to inquire:
'You are expecting someone else, sir?'
Harry nodded. He was watching the dance floor while he fitted a cigarette into Wally's fancy holder.
Since the table was set for two, Harry decided that a nod was the right answer.
It suited the head waiter. Apparently, he expected stalling tactics from the man at the table. The fellow put another question:
'May I see your reservation again, sir?'
The tone signified something more. Reaching into his inside pocket, Harry produced two cards: the table reservation and the identification card that bore the name of James Ludas.
As the head waiter drew the upper card away, he saw the lower one. He gave an understanding whisper.
Harry pocketed the Ludas card.
The head waiter spread a menu on the table. His lips were close to Harry's ear. In an undertone, the man repeated:
'Apartment. Time - 9:05. Over hatbox. Chime.'
THE head waiter was gone. Harry glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes after eight. He watched the dance floor for a short while; then strolled from the table.
Harry picked up the hat and coat at the cloakroom. As he reached the street, he felt for the kid gloves.
His fingers crinkled a slip of paper, evidently slipped in the pocket in the cloakroom.
Once in a cab, Harry read the note that provided added information: Bedroom window opens above next roof. Trapdoor leads to inside stairway. Use in pinch. Leave rest to outside crew.
From a cigar store, Harry made a telephone call. As soon as he had dialed the required number, an even voice responded:
'Burbank speaking.'
Burbank was The Shadow's contact man, who relayed information between active agents and their mysterious chief. Harry gave the facts to Burbank; quietly, the contact man told him to stand by.
In five minutes, there was a return call.
Harry was to go to the Adair Apartments, where Francine Melrue lived. He was to proceed as Duke Unrig expected Wally to perform; but he was to force the pinch that Duke mentioned but did not want.
To produce the emergency, Harry had merely to wait in the apartment until trouble began.
THE Adair Apartments fronted on a side street just off Lexington Avenue. Harry arrived at the entrance a few minutes after nine. Eyeing the street, he saw that it was deserted.
There was a service entrance just past the far wall of the apartment house; and there were some good lurking spots farther down the street. Those could serve the outside crew; but they were too far away for any one of them to note a difference between Harry and Wally Drillick.
What Harry did not notice was a house directly opposite the apartment building. Its first floor was a small restaurant. Its second story was dark.
There were eyes watching from a blackened window on the second floor. A well-concealed observer spotted Harry Vincent. Harry had a minute to wait until five minutes after nine.
When Harry entered the foyer of the apartment house, he saw an office near the elevator. A clerk was busy at the switchboard, answering a deluge of calls that were crowding in all at one time. The elevator operator, a dull, long-faced fellow, was leaning over the counter. Harry heard him ask:
'Is Fred on the telephone, Mr. Deedham?'
