Twitcher's twisty lips were grinning as his eyes read the newspaper.

Suddenly, the beady eyes hardened. An encroaching stretch of blackness had glided across the page of the tabloid sheet; a silhouetted profile, hawklike and sinister, was blocking the glow of the gaslight.

Twitcher looked up, startled. He saw The Shadow.

Like a specter materialized from nowhere, the cloaked avenger loomed above the wounded crook. Eyes peered downward from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.

Those eyes were merciless. Twitcher sank back against the propping pillows.

His left hand fidgeted toward the side of the cot, then faltered. The sight of an automatic muzzle, bulging straight between his eyes, made Twitcher forget his effort to reach for a gun.

The Shadow's free hand stretched across the cot, plucked the hidden gun from beneath the blankets. Weaponless, Twitcher stared in helpless fashion.

His last chance for resistance was gone. He knew the power of The Shadow.

NOT a word came from The Shadow's hidden lips. Fiery eyes alone burned their accusation. The Shadow's gaze was sufficient. In its glint, Twitcher saw doom. He responded as other helpless crooks had in the past. Twitcher wantedthat merciless gaze to lessen its intensity. He thought that if he talked, and talked fast, he could induce The Shadow to lessen his relentless att.i.tude.

"I was one of 'em," gulped Twitcher. "You - you're wise to that already.

You was the guy who clipped me; you oughta know. But we - me an' the rest of us - we wasn't wise to what the big-shot was goin' to do. We didn't know he'd put the finger on Pettigrew an' his a.s.sistant. He didn't tell us that there was goin' to be a rub-out."

Twitcher's plea produced no visible effect. The wounded crook faltered.

The Shadow's .45 moved forward, burning eyes above it holding Twitcher's gaze.

"I'll talk!" panted Twitcher, hoa.r.s.ely. "The jinx is on me, like the big-shot said it might be! He told us -"

The cause of Twitcher's broken sentence was not The Shadow's action.

Twitcher's ears had caught a sound - one that came from beyond the hallway door. For a moment, he was ready to loose a cry, in hope that aid would come.

Then he saw The Shadow draw away. Twitcher knew that the cloaked sleuth had heard the sound also.

It was plain that Twitcher expected Rund; that he hoped his fellow crook would be smart enough to outguess The Shadow. Twitcher's hope faded as The Shadow moved. Glumly, he watched the cloaked inquisitor move toward the back of the room. Every inch of the way, The Shadow's gun kept its relentless bead on Twitcher's eyes.

With his free hand, The Shadow raised the window shade, unclamped the fastening of the sash. He was deliberate, despite the fact that a key was clicking in the lock of the door.

Twitcher, craning his neck over his wounded shoulder, saw The Shadow blend with darkness beyond the window. Down came the shade; only the tiniest crack remained at the side. Through that s.p.a.ce, however, Twitcher could still see the mouth of an automatic; above it, the burn of an everwatching eye.

Twitcher gradually managed to form a sickly smile. Perhaps Rund's entry would be a life-saver. If Twitcher played ball the way The Shadow wanted, his own hide might be spared. For a few seconds, Twitcher held his grin; then the expression faded.

THE door opened suddenly. With its quick swing came startlement for Twitcher. Following the motion of the door, a stocky man shouldered into the room, poking a stubby revolver ahead of him. Behind the first arrival came another: a shifty, smirking-faced fellow who looked like a thug. Twitcher recognized both.

The stocky man with the gun was Acting Inspector Joe Cardona. The ace sleuth's swarthy face was grim. His eyes showed keenly, as Twitcher unconsciously delivered a face contortion. Like The Shadow, Cardona recognized the wounded crook.

The man behind Cardona was "Squeak" Logrew, a man whom the underworld had marked as a stool pigeon. Squeak had accidentally learned that a wounded crook was quartered in this tenement house, and had guessed that the man might be Twitcher Killick. Squeak's grin was gleeful, as his sneaky eyes saw the man on the cot. He nudged forward beside Cardona; Joe pushed the stoolie aside and concentrated on Twitcher.

"h.e.l.lo, Twitcher," growled Cardona. "So you were one of that jewel-s.n.a.t.c.hing crew, eh? Lucky you were wearing a phony beard. Even a mask wouldn't have covered those chewy lips of yours. Who else was in the outfit?"

Twitcher's lips quit their contortion. Sullenly, the crook snarled: "I'm not talkin', Joe! I've got nothin' to tell. I never saw the other guys, except when they was wearin' the whiskers."

"Listen, Twitcher," gruffed Cardona. "I've just come from thecommissioner's office. I called headquarters right after I left there, found out that Squeak wanted me to meet him. I'll tell you something the commissioner said. He told me: 'Cardona, when you find that wounded man, give him a break if he'll tell who the others are.' So you've got your chance, Twitcher."

Twitcher remained silent. He figured Cardona's promise as a bluff. Joe, however, was quick to follow up his proposition. Eyeing Twitcher's bandaged shoulder, Cardona added: "The only guy who would have come here must have been a member of your outfit. Looks like he was something of a doctor, the way he fixed you up. He's one guy you know, Twitcher. Who is he?"

TWITCHER glanced at his shoulder and scowled. His expression changed to a twitch. Beyond his shoulder, the crook saw the back window; he realized that The Shadow was still there. Frantic nervousness gripped him. With effort, Twitcher came upright. He spoke to Cardona, but his words were for The Shadow's benefit.

"The croaker's a guy named Rund," blabbed Twitcher. "Studied to be a medico. Was in stir at Atlanta. I don't know where you'll locate him, though.

Only the big-shot had that dope."

"The big-shot, eh? Who's he?"

Twitcher started to reply to Cardona's question: then wavered, pressing his left hand to his chest. Half slumping, he coughed: "I'll - I'll try to tell you all I know, Joe. Only gimme some air. I've been cooped here 'til I can hardly breathe."

Cardona nodded to Squeak. The stoolie pulled up the shade at the side of Twitcher's cot, then opened the side window. The roar of an approaching elevated train came heavily from above the Bowery. Standing close to Twitcher, Cardona waited for the rumble to die away. Suddenly, he saw a rise of Twitcher's left arm; a contorted grin was on the crook's lips.

All the while, Cardona had been watching Twitcher's face. In that, he had an advantage on The Shadow, who was viewing the back of the crook's neck.

Cardona should have known sooner that Twitcher was faking. By his error, Cardona had actually deceived The Shadow. With Twitcher's hand motion and its accompanying grin, Cardona realized that the crook had sent an emergency signal to someone on the roof of the low garage, between the tenement house and the Bowery.

Joe dived for the foot of the cot. Simultaneously, a rattle sounded with the power of a riveter, but its clatter was almost drowned by the crashing roar of the elevated train. Drilling bullets streamed through the window, to find

two.

targets. The first was Squeak; as the stoolie fell clear, the machine gun bullets found Twitcher.

The crook rolled sidewise on his cot, still wearing his sickly grin. He had called for aid to offset the law. He had received it. The man who had responded with a submachine gun was the big-shot; from the garage roof, he had polished off Twitcher along with Squeak. But the hidden crook was not yet finished.

Again, the machine gun started its half-drowned clatter; bullets came sizzling at an angle. Shifting along the garage roof, the master crook was out to murder Cardona, whom he had glimpsed inside the room.

There came a counteracting move. From his station outside the rear window, The Shadow could not see past the corner of the tenement house. Nevertheless, heknew that the bombarding murderer must be almost on a line with that corner.

The Shadow could see the level of the garage roof, by viewing the rear portion of it.

His right hand on the fire escape rail, The Shadow made a diving stretch along the wall. One foot gained a toehold that held him. His left hand thrust to full length and pushed an automatic muzzle just around the corner.

Steadily, The Shadow jabbed shots for an unseen target, pumping his bullets to cover the all-important area where the master crook would have to halt in order to aim his machine gun for Cardona.

With each recoil of the .45, The Shadow's body turned, swinging in hingelike fashion from the wall. Amazingly, the black-clad marksman retained his hand clamp and his toehold.

The machine gun silenced amid The Shadow's fire. The fading rumble of the "el" train covered the last of The Shadow's shots. The Shadow's work was successful. His bullets had chipped the parapet of the garage roof, close to the approaching killer. The crook had given up his attempt to slaughter Joe Cardona.

SWINGING back to the rear window, The Shadow peered through; he saw Cardona staring from the side window, a revolver in his fist. When the typewriter rattle of the machine gun had stopped, Joe had leaped to the job, hoping to wing the departing crook. The Shadow could see that it was too late.

Cardona had no target. The murderer was gone.

Looking toward the Bowery corner, The Shadow glimpsed the swift-moving top of an automobile as it shot away beneath the elevated. The glimpse gave him the impression that the car was a taxi that must have come up to the corner. The murderer had hopped to the roof of the vacant p.a.w.nshop, dashed down through the old building and grabbed the ready vehicle. It was too late to take up the trail.

The Shadow looked into the room again. He saw Cardona bending over Twitcher's body. Joe had guessed also that the big-shot had made a get-away.

Not hearing The Shadow's deadened shots, Cardona did not know that there had been intervention from the fire escape.

Cardona, therefore, was concerned with Twitcher alone. One factor about the dead crook commanded immediate attention. Twitcher's right hand was clenched.

Cardona stared at the clutched fingers, then pocketed his revolver and gripped the dead fist. He pried at the stilled fingers; they gave, spreading outward. Twitcher's upraised palm-formed a tray, that held a rounded object.

The Shadow saw the reflected glimmer of the gaslight transformed into a myriad of crimson sparkles.

Glowing from the dead crook's palm lay one of the Seven Drops of Blood.

Like a fatal token, the prized ruby was a crystallized mark of doom. Alone, it looked the part that its name implied. It seemed to be a solidified blob of human blood.

Possession of that ruby had been followed by the death of its unrightful owner. One of the seven jewel robbers had received the trophy along with his share of the spoils. For Twitcher Killick, that glowing gem had become a drop of blood.

Silently, The Shadow drew away from the window. His unseen figure descended by the fire escape. Below, a grim laugh came as a suppressed whisper in the night.

Though a supercrook had silenced evidence by murdering one henchman, The Shadow was confident that he could regain the lost trail that ended with Cardona's discovery of a pilfered Drop of Blood.

CHAPTER VII

CROSSED TRAILS.

IT was early the next evening. The end of a busy day had produced another conference between Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona. A pleased smile upon his lips, Weston was tapping a stack of newspapers that rested on his desk.

"We are arriving somewhere, Cardona," approved the commissioner. "Look at what the newspapers have to say. Through your efficiency, Tobias Berkland has regained one of his precious rubies. With it, a member of the criminal band has paid the penalty."

"That ruby gave the papers something to write about," admitted Cardona, with a grin. "They hardly mention the batch of other jewels that I found later, buried in Twitcher's mattress."

"The other gems were valuable," declared Weston, "but, singly, none of them was worth more than a trifle of the ruby's value. Nevertheless, despite the good results, there is still a great deal to worry us. Other members of the band are at large. They have fenced some more of the lesser gems.

"Worse than that, we are dealing with a master murderer. You were fortunate enough to escape his bullets last night, but the further you progress, the more dangerous the game may become. That is" - Weston's face showed a dissatisfied expression - "if you progress at all, Cardona."

"I get it, commissioner," returned Joe. "You think I was lucky; that the trail closed with Twitcher's death. You're wrong, commissioner. I picked up a lead from Twitcher. He told me about Rund; I've looked up the fellow's record.

Marlow Rund is his full name. He sells dental equipment - and I've got a hunch he may have been a doctor, once."

"You told me about Rund, Cardona, but you admitted that you could find no one who knows where he can be located."

"I kept his name out of the papers, commissioner. What's more, I'm expecting word from the telephone company. Rund had a telephone once, at an old address. He may have one now, in some place that he took over from some other person. Like an apartment, with an unexpired lease.

"Rund used to make a lot of complaints about the telephone service; maybe he's still doing, it. So I sent a lot of his photographs to the telephone company. Told them that if any of their trouble-shooters recognized the man, to send a report down to headquarters."

Rising, Cardona glanced at his watch.

"I'm due down there now, commissioner," he informed. "I didn't post any one to give me a telephone call. I just told them to hold any messages that came for me."

Weston put a question, as Cardona was starting toward the door.

"Suppose you do locate Rund, Cardona?" he queried. "How will you approach him?"

"Like I did Killick," rejoined Cardona, grimly. "Only this time, I'll stay away from open windows."

Cardona took his leave. For the present, Joe was concerned with only one thing: the finding of Marlow Rund.

THERE was every reason to suppose that Rund was still in New York. Crookswere fencing jewels; Rund, in particular, had been needed in Manhattan, because Killick had been wounded. Yet Cardona had discreetly avoided a man hunt for Rund. He believed that the crook might be more easily captured if he did not suspect that Killick had betrayed him.

Cardona's belief was a good one. Its value was proven not long after Cardona had left Weston. The proof took place when a chunky, flat-faced individual walked from the lobby of a Lexington Avenue hotel. That man's widened countenance, his slitted eyes and heavy lips matched the photographs that Cardona had sent to the telephone company.

Marlow Rund looked more important than a salesman. He had the appearance of a physician; he knew the fact and tried to keep up the part. Believing that he had bluffed the law, Rund was sure that a doctor's pose was the best that he could carry. He had read the newspapers, but they had contained no mention of the law's belief that Twitcher Killick had received competent medical treatment.

Rund was carrying a small satchel that served him doubly. It looked like a physician's bag; it also enabled him to lug around the jewels that he supplied to fences. The bag was light, as Rund handled it. That explained the destination that he gave when he entered a taxicab and spoke importantly to the driver.

Rund was returning to his old apartment, to pick up another supply of swag. As he rode along, he glanced impatiently at his watch. That gesture revealed another reason why Rund was going to his former abode. The crook apparently expected to hear from someone at a given hour.

When the cab reached Rund's street, the chunky man was alert. His slitted eyes stared, snakelike, from the windows, took in a quick survey of the entire block. The cab stopped a few doors above Rund's, as he had given the driver an address farther along the street.

Alighting, Rund paid the driver and stalked briskly to the proper house.

He opened the front door with a key, went upstairs and used the same key to enter his apartment. As The Shadow had done the night before, Rund pulled down the shades and turned on the light afterward.

Everything in the living room was as Rund had left it. Swinging, he turned toward the bedroom. By the light from the living room, he could see the closed door of the empty closet that contained his surplus of jewels. He grinned in satisfaction as he entered the bedroom without turning on the light. He was carrying his physician's grip; he intended to load the bag with the aid of a flashlight that he produced from his pocket.

HALFWAY to the closet door, Rund paused as a m.u.f.fled jingle came from beside a bed. It was the telephone; the suppressed ring pleased the crook.

Rund had insisted that his telephone bell be adjusted so that it would not ring too loudly. He had given a good reason for the adjustment: the claim that he had been awakened at nights by persons calling the wrong number.

Since Rund a.s.serted that he never received late calls for himself, he claimed that he was ent.i.tled to sleep through the night. A special bell had therefore been installed. As a matter of fact, Rund actually had received late calls, but did not want other occupants of the house to know it.

"h.e.l.lo..." Rund's tone was a purry whisper as he spoke into the telephone.

"Yes, I just arrived... No. Nothing wrong here. What's that? You think I had better leave town?... But I thought we were all supposed to remain here...

"I see... Certainly, it would be wise, in view of circ.u.mstances... Yes, Iarranged for a vacation. No one would suspect... All right. Give me the instructions. I'll repeat them..." Rund paused, listening to a voice across the wire. He repeated the instructions in staccato fashion: "To Cleveland... Tonight... Take the goods with me... Caddey's p.a.w.nshop.

Tomorrow morning..."