Morton Mayland had been hoaxed into an attack on Louis Bolingbroke. But for The Shadow, Bolingbroke would have died from a hidden dacoit's cord; the blame to be Mayland's. The death thrust had failed, but it had gone far enough to put Mayland under suspicion.

There was a motive in Mayland's attack on Bolingbroke; that of hatred that had smoldered for years. Next, the finding of Sarmon's body provided a motive in an actual death. Sarmon had been killed because he was searching for Rensh.e.l.l.

Bones among ashes, sc.r.a.ps of other clues, indicated the murder of Courtney Rensh.e.l.l.

So far, the law had found no motive to account for Mayland murdering Rensh.e.l.l. That was simply another evidence of craftiness displayed by Singhar Bund. Looking for that motive was keeping Joe Cardona busy. Once the crooked work of the Siva cult was completed, something would certainly come to light, to show why Mayland had wanted Rensh.e.l.l dead.

Meanwhile, the law had totally overlooked the fact that heirs of persons like Rodney Welk were members of the Siva cult. Silence was the main stem of the Siva creed. Those persons were pouring their new wealth into the coffers of Singhar Bund; all the while, they were marching about with placid faces, believing that calm contemplation went with the tiny golden charms they carried.

THE SHADOW knew all that. He had learned that the Siva cult had a member who was a relative of Louis Bolingbroke. If Bolingbroke had died, two desires would have been served for Singhar Bund. One was the framing of old Mayland; the other, the gaining of Bolingbroke's wealth.

Bolingbroke was safe. Singhar Bund could not risk another thrust against him. Even suicide would look bad. But there was no reason why Singhar Bund should not want the deaths of others, whose relations belonged to the Siva cult. New murders were due, to appear as fresh accidents.

So far, The Shadow had made no move against Singhar Bund.

Why?

Harry had gradually found an answer to that question. In the past, murders had been s.p.a.ced well apart. Going over the schedules of the Siva meetings, The Shadow had learned that one always came before a murder. He could afford to wait until another meeting came.

Meanwhile, The Shadow had gained a double foothold. The Shadow himself was watching the nest where a dead Serpent lay, to learn if the dacoit's death had become known to his comrades. So far, no one had visited that dingy lair, with the exception of Hawkeye, who occasionally relieved The Shadow's vigil.

The Shadow had also learned of the Eyes and Arms. They would be needed in connection with new crime. Cliff was close enough to Lucky Belther to learn when the word was pa.s.sed. So far, Cliff had gained no inkling of approaching trouble. That suited The Shadow's deduction, that crime would not start until the next meeting of the Siva cult. Perhaps preparations were under way in moderate fashion, for The Shadow had no tabs on Gummer Gilben and the group of spies called Eyes. But their part was merely preliminary. They did no more than set the stage for crime.

Once word was flashed to the Arms, The Shadow could move despite the Eyes.

His task was to beat the Serpents to their goal. Harry was convinced that The Shadow had calculated some method whereby that could be accomplished.

At any rate, the suspense was almost ended. Tonight was the scheduled evening for a meeting of the Siva cult.

Harry was awaiting word regarding that meeting; there was a chance that he would be called upon to attend it, in company with Lucille.

The girl, unhappy over her grandfather's arrest, was living at a friend's apartment. Harry had seen her several times; on each occasion, she had doubted that she would go to the next meeting.

It would be up to Harry to persuade her either to attend the meeting or stay away, according to The Shadow's order.

THE hotel doorman came across the lobby, carrying a bulky package which he placed upon the desk. The name on the package puzzled the clerk. He shook his head; it had been delivered to the wrong hotel. The doorman took the package back to the messenger.

That incident was Harry's cue. He placed his newspaper aside, lighted a cigarette and strolled out to the street. He walked a few paces, saw a parked cab and stepped into it.

The cab was Moe Shrevnitz's. The Shadow sat shrouded in the back seat.

The cab moved; as it rolled through neighboring blocks, The Shadow spoke in whispered tones to Harry.

"Remain away from tonight's meeting," came the voice. "Persuade Lucille to do the same."

There was a pause; then a low-pitched, mirthless laugh. The Shadow continued: "Singhar Bund is attempting a bold policy. He has declared tonight's meeting public. Commissioner Weston will attend, taking his friend Lamont Cranston."

The cab rounded a corner, came to a side door of the hotel. Harry caught last words of instruction. He stepped from the cab. As he closed the door, he would have sworn that the interior was empty Yet Harry knew that the cab earned the living presence of The Shadow!

The last instructions had been brief. Harry was to call Lucille; to suggest a theater instead of the cult meeting. She was at the apartment, awaiting word from him. Harry knew that she would be guided by his decision.

Harry smiled at the thought that he and Lucille were temporarily out of the picture. After all, they were practically under the protection of crooks themselves, since both Harry and Lucille carried Siva charms that meant immunity to their bearers. So, for that matter, was Joe Cardona, who had the tiny image that Singhar Bund had given him.

Cardona, it happened, was very useful to crooked affairs, right at present. Without knowing it, he was puffing the smoke screen that covered criminal affairs.

Harry's main thoughts, however, concerned himself and Lucille.

Apparently, nothing had occurred to change their status. Even The Shadow regarded them as safe. That satisfied Harry. He did not realize that some chance occurrence might have changed the situation. There was a message for Harry at the Metrolite desk. It was from Lucille; he was to call her apartment. Had Harry been less confident, he would have a.n.a.lyzed that message; as it was, he merely decided that Lucille was wondering what he intended to do about tonight.

Rather than waste time by going up to his room, Harry chose to make the call from a telephone booth. There were several of them in a quiet corner of the lobby, close to a long exit that led to another street.

Tossing a finished cigarette into a sanded vase, Harry failed to glance toward the darkish exit pa.s.sage when he pa.s.sed it.

STOPPING in the first booth, Harry dropped a nickel and dialed Lucille's number. He heard the girl's voice answer; the strain of Lucille's tone gave him his first inkling of danger, but he thought the menace was Lucille's, alone.

"I called you, Harry" - Lucille's voice was striving for its usual calmness - "because I suspected that someone was watching here. I must have been right; for soon after that, the telephone rang. I thought, at first, that it must be you -"

Lucille's voice broke, breathless. Harry spoke encouraging words; he was tense, though he tried not to betray it.

"It was someone else," came Lucille's low whisper. "A voice that I recognized. Harry, that call told me something terribly important. It proved that my grandfather is innocent of murder! Innocent, because -"

A choke came across the wire. Harry heard a suppressed scream; then the heavy click of a receiver hook. Lucille's apprehensions were correct. She had been watched; listeners had caught the words that she just uttered!

Something had happened to Lucille, and only Harry knew the fact. The first move would be a call to Burbank. Hastily, Harry slammed the receiver on its hook; shoved his shoulder from the booth, as he dug in his pocket for another nickel.

A padded object thumped the back of Harry's skull. Murmurless, the young man slumped from the telephone booth, into the arms of the husky who had cracked him with the sandbag.

Two hard-faced men stepped sideways from the exit pa.s.sage; turning their backs to the lobby, they screened all sight of what had happened at the telephone booth.

They and the slugger formed a trio that edged away from the booths, shifting Harry's limp figure ahead of them. Ten seconds later, they were hastening toward the street, carrying their burden.

Crime's new night had begun with the taking of two prisoners. Lucille and Harry were helpless captives, without the knowledge of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XV.

THE VOICE OF SIVA.

"THE job's all set, Cliff. Here's the lay -"

Lucky Belther broke off his statement as he heard a buzz. It was the m.u.f.fled telephone bell that was located in his hide-out. For a moment. Lucky's thin-slitted eyes glittered a suspicious look.

"The big boy called a while ago," he muttered. "It shouldn't be him again, so soon -"

The buzz was insistent. Lucky went to the telephone; lifting the receiver, he grunted a h.e.l.lo. Tough lips showed a grin of recognition. Lucky nodded towardCliff; sidemouthed the words: "The boss, after all!"

A voice was coming over the wire. Cliff could catch no words; merely a clicky tone. It didn't fit with the purr that was supposed to be Singhar Bund's. Cliff wondered whether the Hindu was calling with disguised voice, or whether someone else gave orders to Lucky.

It was the first time that Cliff had heard that telephone in use. A while ago, it would have suited him. Right now, it spoiled plans. Lucky had just started to spill important details when the call interrupted. Cliff couldn't stifle the thought that this might change things.

It did. Lucky's face showed a different sort of enthusiasm, when the call was finished.

"The job's all set, Cliff," he declared. "Just like I said. Only, I'm handling it with a crew of Arms. Without you helping me."

"Yeah?" snapped Cliff. "How come?"

"You've got a different job," returned Lucky. "Some dame mixed into things. A couple of Eyes grabbed her; they're taking her to the big-shot, wherever he is.

"The moll started to spill some dope to a boy friend. But the Eyes were wise by that time. So they snagged him; and that's where you come in. You're to take him for a ride."

Cliff's dead-pan face showed none of the thoughts that flashed through his mind. Mention of a girl had made him think of Lucille. The fact that a man was in the picture, certainly meant Harry. To Cliff was being delegated the duty of putting his own friend on the spot!

"Stick here, Cliff," ordered Lucky, "until I get outside. I got a car there; I'll tell the wheeler where he's to go. I'll leave you a couple of gorillas to help with the rub-out. I'll be watching to see you start."

With that, Lucky made a rapid exit. Haste, not mistrust, was the cause; but it put Cliff in a bad jam.

IF Cliff had only learned where he was to go, his task would be easy.

Word to The Shadow; delay along the way - Harry would be gone when the murder squad arrived. As it was, the important detail of route was to be in the hands of whoever drove the car.

Cliff had missed out entirely on learning what Lucky's job was to be; but that had dwindled to unimportance. The immediate problem was to save Harry. It took Cliff swift seconds of calculation before he could grab the only answer.

After the murder crew picked up Harry, matters would be in Cliff's charge.

He could stall along them, directing the driver where to go. A roundabout route would not arouse suspicion. Cliff could pick a route that would go by a designated place.

Grabbing Lucky's telephone, Cliff dialed Burbank's number. Though he wasn't given to jitters, Cliff found himself telling the contact man the news in a forced, worried voice. Burbank's methodical tone actually pulled Cliff from the doldrums.

The contact man took the report as coolly as a routine announcement. He informed Cliff that Moe's cab would be at a certain corner, supplying a better location than the one that Cliff suggested. Word, meanwhile, would go to The Shadow. It was up to Cliff to handle the rest.

There was no time for Cliff to think things over, after he had finished the call. By this time, Lucky would be getting suspicious, down there on the street. Cliff slid out through the door; when he reached the sidewalk, hepaused to rub the back of his hands across his lips.

That would make Lucky think that Cliff had paused to take a swig from the ever-present bottle. Lucky belonged to that breed of thugs who invariably steeled themselves with a stiff drink. Cliff's adoption of that system would please him.

A touring car was waiting, a short way off. Cliff got in, grunted a greeting to the three men already there.

"Let's go," he told the driver. Then, to allay later chances of suspicion: "Take it easy. We don't want any bulls to stop us and ask questions."

FAR from the tawdry district where Cliff's adventure had started, the Siva cult was going through its ceremonies for the benefit of a curious audience.

Beside the three-faced statue with its jeweled eyes, Singhar Bund discoursed on Oriental subjects.

Less than half the persons present were members of the cult. Only one non-member might have been mistaken for a believer in Siva. That lone personage was Lamont Cranston. His face was immobile, his eyes calm.

Yet those eyes had sized the situation. Certain persons were absent; they were the ones who had profited through deaths like that of Rodney Welk. In placing his believers on exhibition, Singhar Bund had wisely found excuses to keep those members away.

Moreover, Singhar Bund was avoiding demonstrations of trickery. He was talking of wonders that had been performed; of others that would be exhibited on later occasions. But with the police commissioner and other skeptics present, Singhar Bund thought it best to confine his activities to a mere lecture.

Finishing his talk, the crafty cult ruler became somewhat bolder. Seeing that listeners were impressed, he motioned toward the alcove that contained the upright casket. Singhar Bund invited all to inspect it.

"A yogi is preparing for that test," he declared. "He must spend a week in fasting, except for a diet of sheep's blood. He is also practicing the necessary breathing exercises needed for this greatest demonstration of samadhi, or perfect contemplation.

"At some future time, he will be placed in the confines of that casket; the locks will be shut and sealed. Days later, we shall remove him, alive and unharmed, from a s.p.a.ce where no ordinary mortal could breathe safely for a dozen minutes."

The big casket was open. The commissioner looked inside, and was impressed. The interior had a decorative design, like the outside.

Cranston observed that in idle fashion; his eyes also studied the huge hinges that showed when the casket was open.

For a few moments, Singhar Bund seemed suspicious of Cranston's scrutiny.

The Hindu suggested that the visitors resume their places, to witness the final ritual. Singhar Bund asked Phineas Leeth if he would lead the procession past the statue of Siva. The droopy-faced man beamed.

"A rare privilege," said Leeth to Weston. "To be the first to salaam Siva is regarded as good omen. Ah, commissioner, we who believe in Siva find great contentment."

Weston looked to Cranston; as Leeth left them, the commissioner commented that the old man was badly duped. The statement brought a nod from Cranston.

His eyes were elsewhere. He was counting the dacoits. All were present, exceptthe one that The Shadow knew to be dead.

These fake yogis had not entered until the end of the meeting; and Singhar Bund had purposely failed to call attention to them. The fact that they were here at all was something that The Shadow understood; for his disguised lips showed traces of a faint smile that Singhar Bund did not observe.

In fact, Singhar Bund was a trifle perplexed when he counted noses for the first time. It was too late, however, for him to investigate the Serpent's absence. He could find out nothing by questioning the other dacoits. Like The Shadow, Singhar Bund knew that the Serpents did not meet outside the temple.

LEETH was back, happy because he had bowed to Siva. Other believers were continuing their slow file to the statue. Commissioner Weston did not look impressed; but Cranston salved Leeth's feelings by the inquiry: "May others, not as yet believers, approach Siva and do homage?"

"Certainly" returned Leeth. "As soon as the procession has ended. Shall I conduct you there, Mr. Cranston?"

"I would appreciate the favor."

Leeth took Cranston's elbow. They reached Singhar Bund; Leeth announced Cranston as a new convert. Singhar Bund smiled, purred friendly approval. He had noted Cranston several times, and had half believed that this visitor was ripe for admission into the Siva cult.

"You may approach," spoke Singhar Bund, "as soon as the last yogi has pa.s.sed."

His restraining hand was less pressing than it had been with Harry. There was no need for an iron grip; plushy pressure was sufficient in Cranston's case. That, alone, was sufficient to lull Singhar Bund into security. Cranston was not close enough to hear the hisses of the Serpents as they bowed before Siva.

The Shadow's real purpose was lost to Singhar Bund. It deceived him as effectively as did those masklike features of Cranston.

When the final Serpent had gone, Singhar Bund urged Cranston forward; then remained to talk to Leeth. That was the great mistake of Singhar Bund. It was his turn to be out of earshot, at a vital moment.

As The Shadow bowed before the statue of Siva, his lips remained motionless as they delivered a hiss. Lowtoned, that snakish utterance was a perfect imitation of the sounds that The Shadow had heard the dacoits give.

The Shadow was speaking for the missing Serpent.

The Shadow waited, calm in his guise of Cranston. His clever strategy was rewarded. From the bronze lips of the Siva's central head came a response, low-spoken, its words a mingling of English and Hindustani!