worry? Archie is due for an income, and I'll get my dough - the three grand - in time payments. I've got Archie's markers right here, if you want to see them."

Rahman Singh hefted the revolver as Silk was reaching toward a desk drawer. The gambler shrugged, and decided that the Hindu was taking his word for it that the I O U's were there.

"Your position," spoke Rahman Singh, "is better than mine. Louise Dreller also has an income and will spend much of it with me, provided that I can again resume my business. However, that appears impossible."

"How come?" asked Silk.

"Today, I called Miss Dreller," declared the Hindu. "She said that a gentleman named Lamont Cranston wished to see me. I happen to know that Cranston is a very good friend of the police commissioner. Therefore, it may mean a trap!"

Silk was suddenly interested. He leaned his folded arms upon the desk.

"Knowing that you might sympathize with my predicament," resumed Rahman Singh, "I came here feeling that our mutual knowledge of certain facts would make us lasting friends -"

"Cut the boloney," interrupted Silk. "Archie told me about Cranston calling Louise. Listen, Singh, you're in a racket, the same as I am. I didn't croak Rendrew, but there's a guy I'm going to get. I'll let you in on it, because I can use you."

Rahman Singh looked troubled at the suggestion of murder, but Silk merely smiled. He wasn't mystified any longer by the Hindu's visit here; the fellow had simply started his trip as soon as he had finished his call to Louise. A crook himself, Silk was confident that he could spot any of his own breed, and Rahman Singh had the proper earmarks.

"The guy I'm after," announced Silk, "is Lamont Cranston. That ought tointerest you, Rahman Singh."

"It does. But not enough for murder -"

"No?" Silk spoke the word with a long drawl. "Suppose I told you that Lamont Cranston was The Shadow."

A SHARP gleam flashed to the Hindu's eye, seemingly flickered there between amazement and belief. Silk beckoned around the desk; Rahman Singh arose, bringing his gun. He saw Silk point to the light bulb under the desk edge.

"That hooks with the phone booths outside," explained Silk. "They're tapped, and whenever anybody makes a call this light comes on. I rigged it, in case any big losers got sore upstairs and tried to call the cops while on the way out.

"This guy Cranston has been around here, but I wasn't very leery of him until night before last. I'd seen him out there at a table; when the light came on, I figured he was making a phone call. I listened in, but the guy I heard was The Shadow!"

Rahman Singh sucked in his breath with a long, deep hiss, then asked with a gasp: "You're sure?"

"Sure as shooting!" chuckled Silk. "Because there was some shooting pretty soon after that. The Shadow was going up to the Hotel Northley. I chased a mob there ahead of him. He got out of that mess, though, because he was in the open."

Leaning back in his chair, Silk reached to the desk drawer; this time, Rahman Singh did not deter him. Silk drew out some slips of paper, spread them on the desk. Each was an I O U signed by Archie Dreller.

"The Shadow probably saw these," said Silk. "He knows too much, that guy.

But he hasn't seen this" - the gambler produced a key - "because I only put it there a half hour ago."

"What is it for?" inquired Rahman Singh.

"It's the key to an old hide-out," explained Silk, "where I'm going to trap The Shadow. I know he's Cranston all right, because Cranston was gone after The Shadow made that call. But you're the only guy I've told."

"I've got another mob. Like the old outfit, they went to get The Shadow.

There's no use telling them he's Cranston, until they've grabbed him. Guns aren't the way to trap The Shadow. I've thought of a couple of guys who might be in that hide-out, ready to fox him; but you're the best bet yet!"

The eyes of Rahman Singh displayed a far-away gleam, as though the Hindu had caught a complete view of some future scene. The black beard wagged when Silk's visitor nodded.

"An excellent idea!" he approved. "Much better that I should be there, expecting a friendly visit from Mr. Cranston, than to have some person whose very name would rouse suspicion."

"That's it," agreed Silk. "I'd thought of steering The Shadow there to look for Kelden. Only, that wouldn't work. The Shadow probably thinks that Kelden ran that mob two nights ago. He'd be looking for another battle."

"If I called Cranston -"

"He'd suspect nothing. He's asked you to call him. Invite him to the joint. He'll come there."

"Yes, he will come alone" - Rahman Singh's eyes still had their distant gaze - "for the first visit. It will be" - again gold teeth gleamed from leering lips - "Cranston's only visit!"

Silk Elredge placed the key in the Hindu's brownish palm. He scribbled an address on a slip of paper and added it to the key. Stepping from his desk, he opened the door that swung with the filing cabinet. "Use this way going out," suggested Silk. "Go over to the joint and rig it up any way you want. If you need dough -"

"I have money," interrupted the Hindu. "Yes, the place must be presentable. Something like my former establishment."

"There's two doors to the hide-out. The mob can move in whenever you say.

I won't tell them it's The Shadow, or anybody else, until after they've pulled the s.n.a.t.c.h."

Rahman Singh thrust out his hand, Silk gripped it. He could guess, from the Hindu's gleaming smile, that a cunning brain was already at work; one skilled in devising tricky stunts that could deceive the smartest minds. Silk already had some ideas of his own, but decided to withhold them.

"Frame it by tomorrow night," said Silk, "and slip me the lowdown as soon as you're ready."

With Rahman Singh gone through the secret exit, Silk Elredge returned to his desk and chuckled. Yes, he and his new crony had laid their cards on the table; and they both stood winners.

The only loser from that showdown would be The Shadow!

CHAPTER XII.

SILK GETS THE DOPE.

SEATED at his desk in headquarters, Inspector Joe Cardona wore an expression as gloomy as the sky outside his window. Considering that the day was overclouded and that dusk had already settled, Cardona's face was just about as glum as it possible could be.

Lights were already twinkling from Manhattan's hazy background. Noting them, Cardona wished that he could see a glimmer in the personal fog that surrounded him. About all that he was getting was sympathy from Detective Sergeant Markham, who reminded Joe of a patient St. Bernard bringing a bottle -.

empty!

Anyway, he could talk to Markham; that was a bit of comfort. Cardona wanted to talk on a subject that he could handle thoroughly, when occasion demanded. Cardona's theme concerned Police Commissioner Weston.

"He's gone bullheaded again," gruffed the inspector, "like he always does when things don't go the way he wants. Tells you to go right ahead, your own way, then all of a sudden he yanks you on the carpet and yells like blazes because you haven't gotten what he calls results. What a guy!"

"Who?" asked Markham.

"The commissioner!" stormed Cardona. "Do you think I've been talking about the superintendent of the zoo? Sorry, Markham" - Joe was mixing sarcasm with his apology - "I couldn't blame you if you made that mistake. We might as well be monkeys and hyenas while Weston is in charge of us."

From his desk, Cardona brought Louise's photograph of Dwight Kelden, made a move to chuck it in the waste-basket, then returned it to the drawer.

"The trouble with Kelden," snapped Cardona, "is that hat of his. Ever since we sent out those 'wanted' notices, the whole force has been looking for a cowboy. Instead, the guy's got curly hair. That's something n.o.body thought to tell me, until today."

"That ought to help," put in Markham. "Maybe you'll find him quick."

"Just what I said to the commissioner. His idea of 'quick' sounded like ten minutes. He finally made it ten hours, which gives me until midnight."

Pacing the little office, Cardona finally reached for his hat. He grumbledas he studied the murky sky, then said philosophically: "I might as well get used to b.u.m weather. From the way the commissioner talked, I'll be pounding a beat tomorrow. It wasn't reasonable, the way he busted loose. I guess he's getting tired of lamb chops.

"Maybe he wouldn't have acted up, if Cranston hadn't gone out to make that phone call of his. I should have taken my cue and ducked out then. Then I wouldn't have been alone with Weston."

A jangle interrupted further comments. Cardona told Markham to answer the telephone and started out the door. He hadn't gone ten yards down the corridor, before he heard Markham bawling after him. When Joe returned, the detective sergeant gulped: "It's The Shadow!"

Cardona didn't believe it at first; but as he listened, he became convinced. Those whispered words were inimitable, and as usual, they were promising the unexpected. Though the voice did not mention the name of Dwight Kelden, it stated that the Rendrew case would be cracked before midnight, provided Cardona co-operated.

Since The Shadow's time limit coincided with Weston's ultimatum, Cardona gruffed that he would agree to anything.

"Remain in your office," was The Shadow's final whisper, "until you receive later word."

A trailing laugh followed, ending abruptly with the click of the receiver.

Cardona stood holding a dead telephone, staring as if he still heard distant echoes of that eerie mirth.

ELSEWHERE, the laugh lasted longer. It reached completion in the black-walled sanctum - The Shadow's own headquarters. Beneath a bluish light, gloved hands were at work - a curious sight, below that glow. Usually, The Shadow's hands were ungloved while he attended to such details.

Two books were lying on the table; also an automatic. Stepping away from the light, The Shadow carried those objects with him. There was silence; then the sudden report of the gun.

The sound was a roar amid those curtained walls; its echoes still reverberated when The Shadow swung back to the table and began to wrap the books in a package. To them, he added a small box padded like an egg crate. It contained a darkish electric-light bulb.

Next came a coil of wire, tipped by a device that looked something like a vest-pocket camera. Just before he closed the package, The Shadow slipped a sealed envelope inside it. The bundle went beneath his cloak; then, reaching across the table, The Shadow picked up a tiny object, which he decided to retain separately.

The object was a bullet, flattened at the head but unmashed at the base.

It was distinguishable as a revolver bullet of .32 caliber. The Shadow was inserting the metal slug into a tiny pocket of his cloak, when he reached his other hand for the light switch.

The bluish glow extinguished, the sanctum throbbed with the quiver of a departing laugh; then silence joined pitch-darkness.

Night had actually settled, when a taxicab wheeled from an avenue and swung to a stop at a corner near the Rendrew house. Helene Graymond came from a drugstore, carrying some bundles. She stopped at a mail box to post a batch of letters: That brought her almost beside the cab.

The Shadow's shape had emerged from the half-opened cab door, but no one farther away than Helene could have seen the cloaked figure against the cab's darkened interior. In fact, Helene could not distinguish the outline of the form beside her. But she felt the light clutch of expected fingers upon her arm; heard low-whispered instructions, to which she gave an understanding nod.

A moving hand added another bundle to those that Helene carried. The cloaked form merged with the gloom inside the cab. The vehicle was twinkling its taillight, a block distant, while Helene was still walking toward the house.

When Froy opened the front door in answer to her ring, Helene went upstairs to her room. She left some of the packages on a table near the stairs, but took the rest with her. Among those that she retained was the package that she had received from The Shadow.

There had been nothing suspicious about Helene's trip. By this time, it was deemed safe for her to leave the mansion, and detectives were no longer guarding the portals. It would have been a mistake, though, for her to have stayed away too long. Helene had simply gone to mail some letters for Osman and to make a few purchases at the drugstore.

In her bedroom, Helene opened the package. She read the note that came with it; it gave brief instructions regarding the items in the package. With them, Helene was to place another object, the old calendar, that was in the office closet.

All the exhibits were to remain in her room, until The Shadow came for them; unless, because of some emergency, it would be necessary for Helene to place them at spots about the house, where they were eventually to be found.

In that case, Helene would be informed by a telephone call; otherwise, The Shadow would attend to the needed details.

In the message, Helene also noted a number that she could call in case of trouble. The note told her to remember it, and it was well that she did, for the writing soon began to fade from The Shadow's message.

All that was quite mysterious, much more so than the telephone call that Helene had received an hour ago, telling her when to be at the drugstore.

ABOUT the time when Helene was returning downstairs, Silk Elredge left his office at the Club Cadiz, bound on a visit to Rahman Singh, from whom he had heard occasionally during the day.

The Hindu was at the hide-out, and from his chortles across the telephone, he had evidently cooked up some cute scheme to waylay Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow.

Silk was going to "look over the lay," as he termed it, and realizing that he might be under observation from The Shadow, he adopted precautions to keep a derby hat down over his forehead and went out by the special route.

Sneaking through an alleyway behind the Club Cadiz, he entered a parked coupe. As he drove past the next corner, Silk blinked the lights, received a response from a parked sedan. The other car followed Silk while he took a roundabout course. Finally, when he pulled into a side street, the sedan rolled past and blinked another signal.

That car contained Silk's cover-up crew. They were telling him that he hadn't been followed, and they were now on their way to line up the rest of the mob. After that, they would post themselves at a given spot near the hide-out where Silk was to meet with Rahman Singh.

Reaching a shabby block, Silk parked the coupe and entered a dingy house.Up a flight of uncarpeted stairs, he followed a short hallway to a stout door, where he rapped. Rahman Singh admitted him, and Silk looked around with approval.

The Hindu had made over a poorly furnished room into a place that had somewhat of an Oriental glamour. Draperies hung from the walls, and though they were cheap, they gave tone. There was a table in a corner, covered with a fancy cloth; surmounting it was a pedestal topped by the crystal ball that Rahman Singh used in the forecasts that he gave the gullible.

From another table, Rahman Singh brought a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink. Corking the bottle, he handed it to Silk and reached for another gla.s.s. Silk supplied himself with a drink, while Rahman Sing waited.

When the Hindu lifted his gla.s.s Silk did the same, while Rahman Singh chuckled: "Here's to The Shadow!"

Down went the drinks. Wiping his beard, Rahman Singh put both gla.s.ses with the bottle, then lifted a turban from the side table. He was wearing a tuxedo and the Oriental headgear made an excellent contrast, reminding Silk of pictures that he had seen showing Hindu rajahs on tour of America.

Silk, however, had something more important to talk about.

"The mob's outside," he told Rahman Singh, "ready to get posted when I give the high sign. What about Cranston?"

"He is waiting at his club," mouthed Rahman Sing. "I have talked to him by telephone, but have not yet told him where he is to come to meet me."

"And after he gets here?"

"All will be well!"

Rahman Singh spoke with such a.s.surance that Silk could no longer restrain his impatience.

"Let's have it," he insisted. "How are you going to snag the guy? Give me the whole dope."

"You have already witnessed my method," smiled Rahman Singh. "I have shown you how I intend to handle Cranston. I am sure that you will agree that my scheme is quite as effective as it is simple."

With that, Rahman Singh brought back the bottle. From the neck, he drew the cork, tapped it and announced: "This is it!"