The killer yelled an oath. He had ducked aside as he fired his silenced bullet. He was now circling swiftly in a flank attack. He had dropped his stubby gun. One shot was all that the specially-chambered weapon was good for. A second gun glittered in the killer's grasp. This was a .38.

The whole thing happened with the speed of lightning. Maletto's drop from the ceiling, the wasted bullet, the quick rush together of determined enemies - it was as fast as the double beat of a man's heart.

In the dark hallway outside the threshold of the room, The Shadow did not interfere. Twin .45s were gripped in his black-gloved hands, but he was unable to use them without firing indiscriminately. The two thuggish foes were in a desperately whirling embrace. It was impossible for The Shadow to aim at the target he wanted.

He wished to cut down only one of those thugs. Knowledge already in The Shadow's possession made him unwilling to risk killing Maletto.

But k.n.o.bs was doing a good job of protecting himself. His fearless rush at the killer had twisted the muzzle of the .38 as the gun flamed. The slug was diverted. It smashed into the soft wood of the door frame.

Maletto's knife was flashing in his hand. His murderous foe yanked again at the trigger. This time, his gun muzzle was dined directly at Maletto's heart. k.n.o.bs had no chance to turn the barrel away from his body But there was no spurt of flame as the trigger jerked. The hammer had not struck the percussion cap of the cartridge. It made a b.l.o.o.d.y mess of k.n.o.bs Maletto's inserted thumb.

He didn't utter a sound. It was the gunman who screamed.

Maletto's knife had stabbed. Blood gushed from a deep wound. The knife had found a vital spot. The gunman cried in the midst of his brief, bubbling scream. His body collapsed. He pitched in a huddle to the floor.

Maletto gasped with exhaustion. The next instant, his gasp rose to a thin screech of fear. He was facing the twin automatics of The Shadow!

The Shadow stood like a black-garbed executioner on the dark threshold of the room. But his menacing guns remained silent. There was a strange expression on his grim, beak-nosed countenance.

k.n.o.bs tried vainly to shout something. He was unable to utter a sound. The b.l.o.o.d.y knife dropped from his hands. He raised empty hands above his head in token of surrender.

The Shadow knew what k.n.o.bs was trying to say. Calm words loosed the lock on his captive's frozen tongue.

"Foe... or friend?" The Shadow intoned.

"Friend!" Maletto gasped.

The laughter of The Shadow made a hissing whisper. Maletto's answer sounded like the desperate lie of a cornered criminal. But The Shadow knew otherwise. The Shadow was aware that k.n.o.bs was telling the truth.

"You have proof?"

"Yes!" "Advance, friend. Produce proof." Maletto stumbled forward. He cried as he approached The Shadow.

The black-garbed enemy of crime moved aside, his twin .45s ominous. He allowed the cringing captive to pa.s.s through the doorway into the hall.

He watched Maletto open the door of a hallway closet, watched him fumble carefully, then return.

k.n.o.bs brought with him something that made the laughter of The Shadow deepen with ironic satisfaction.

k.n.o.bs was holding in his trembling fingers a black cloak and a broad-brimmed black hat. It was the hat and cloak of The Shadow! The same stolen regalia that had vanished so mysteriously in the projection booth of a movie theater in uptown Manhattan!

THE SHADOW'S laughter was brief. He issued swift orders. Maletto looked startled, frightened. But he nodded submissively.

He bent over the floor where the dead gunman lay - b.u.t.toned up the coat of the corpse to hide the fatal knife wound. Then he heaved the body of the killer across his shoulder.

Silently, The Shadow descended the stairs to the cellar. Maletto followed him, carrying the body of the dead gunman.

The white-splashed stone in the cellar wall offered no obstacle to The Shadow when he inserted the long b.u.t.tonhook key in a tiny round hole. The stone turned. So did other stones alongside it.

A hole was disclosed. Beyond the hole was a vertical pit that led downward inside the thick wall.

The Shadow descended. So did Maletto.

It was pitch-dark at the bottom of the pit. The Shadow didn't turn on his flash. His exploring hands told him the nature of the spot he was in. He had reached the beginning of a horizontal tunnel. The earth was soft and damp in that tunnel. It smelled disagreeably of harbor mud.

From the direction of that underground pa.s.sage, The Shadow knew where it led. It pointed directly toward the sh.o.r.e of Gravesend Bay. It was deep enough to be below the surface of the tide mud beyond the stone house.

It led to a death trap for The Shadow!

Knowing this, The Shadow did not hesitate. He had come here to enter that trap. It was necessary to risk impending death in order to achieve his purpose.

He crawled noiselessly along the muddy tunnel. Behind him, more slowly, crawled k.n.o.bs Maletto.

Presently, the tunnel ended. Beyond a narrow exit opening lay a larger chamber, pitch-black, completely invisible.

The Shadow didn't halt. He crawled through. As he did so, he felt a noose drop over his head and shoulders. The noose tightened, imprisoning both arms at his sides.

As The Shadow uttered a cry of pretended panic, through the darkness a figure leaped at him. The b.u.t.t of a gun smashed at him. The Shadow's cry ended in a moan.

But, like his first cry, the moan of pain was faked. The Shadow's skull had not received that disabling blow. He had rolled aside, taken the blow on the bone of a hunched shoulder. It hurt, but it did not disable him. He allowed his unresisting body to be dragged through the darkness. Hands hauled him roughly to his feet. He was thrust savagely into a chair.

The next instant, The Shadow felt the numbing surge of an electric current coursing through his body. It twisted him, tightened his muscles and nerves with pain; but it was not a killing current.

His unseen foe didn't mean to kill The Shadow in such an easy manner. Knowing this, The Shadow endured it.

He could feel the swift pressure of straps across his body. The straps were tight, but no tighter than he desired. The current had been turned off, now. The Shadow was able to poise his body properly under cover of protective darkness.

The darkness faded. Dim light showed from a small overhead bulb in the ceiling. The ceiling was concrete. So was the floor. The Shadow saw the faces of his two captors.

Simon Swade was the man who had seized The Shadow. He was still wearing rubber gloves. His chuckle was like a croon of death as he stripped the gloves from his hands.

Nearby stood Anthony Kilby. His face was drawn in a taut line.

Swade's laugh was bitter with triumph.

"How do you do, Mr. Cranston? I trust you attended to your personal correspondence at the Cobalt Club. I'd offer you another drink, but it seems your arms are tied." His mock politeness changed to a snarl. "We're going to do a little name changing. We don't like the name of Lamont Cranston. We certainly don't care much for The Shadow. So we're going to officiate at a rather amusing type of baptism. We're about to change your name to 'Mud'!"

Swade turned. Beyond the chair where The Shadow was strapped stood something that looked like a squat electric crane. Chains dangled from it. There were four of them. They hung loosely above a square wooden trap in the concrete floor.

"We shan't use water," Swade said. "Since this is going to be a baptism of death, we shall use mud!"

As he spoke, Swade pressed a b.u.t.ton. The square wooden trap swung upward from the floor. There was no sign of mud, but The Shadow could smell the decaying stench of it. The mud was deep below the level of the opening in the floor.

"We've sunk a hollow wooden shaft," Swade said. His grin was like a streak of blood in his pale face.

"We're going to drop you alive into that shaft! Then our cute little electric crane is going to drag up the hollow shaft - leaving you at the bottom! Is the picture clear?"

The Shadow watched Swade fasten the dangling chains of the crane to four stout hooks, one on each side of the sunken wooden chute. The mud in which the chute was embedded had been pumped out from its interior. When the crane lifted the wooden chute, the mud - liquid and nauseous - would pour into the deep hole where the shaft had been.

It would engulf The Shadow under smothering tons of slime beneath the tide flats of Gravesend Bay!

The Shadow cringed in his chair. Swade laughed. The noose that had dropped over the body of The Shadow when he had first crawled into the chamber still kept his arms rigid at his sides.

Swade no longer needed the chair straps. He loosed them, yanked the trussed Shadow brutally forward.The Shadow fell on his face. Swade dragged him toward the square opening in the floor.

The Shadow made no resistance. He was watching Kilby.

Kilby's face was chalk-white. Suddenly, he whirled toward Swade. A gun had jerked into his hand. He aimed the muzzle at Swade's heart.

"You can't murder him! I won't let you! Hands up, Swade, or I'll shoot!"

Swade's laugh was ugly. The menace of Kilby's gun didn't deter Swade from taking a swift leap toward his partner.

Kilby fired.

But no sound came from the weapon except the faint click of the hammer striking on an empty chamber.

"Shoot and be d.a.m.ned!" Swade snarled. "Your gun is empty! I figured you might be chicken-hearted, so I took no chances on your conscience!"

As he spoke, he delivered a vicious blow with his own gun b.u.t.t. Kilby fell in a dazed heap. Swade whirled, darted toward the fettered figure of The Shadow.

As he did so, he mouthed a cry of rage. The Shadow was rising from the floor!

His arms were no longer looped close to his sides. A tiny blade in his palm had sliced through his bonds.

The Shadow had palmed it before he had crawled from the cellar tunnel into the chamber of death.

He flung himself backward from the attack of Swade. As he reached the wall, he turned. His outstretched hand found the light switch. The dusty bulb in the ceiling went out, plunging the room into blackness.

Through that blackness Swade launched himself at The Shadow. His clubbed gun struck viciously. He felt the impact of flesh and blood under that murderous blow. He struck again and again.

Then he clawed at the wall. The ceiling bulb glowed again with sickly light.

The Shadow lay face downward in a b.l.o.o.d.y huddle. Swade grabbed him by the collar of his robe, dragged him to the opening of the shaft in the floor.

Kilby, still dazed, tried vainly to interfere. But he was unable to move.

"Don't!" he screamed.

Swade didn't even turn his head. He heaved the inert body of The Shadow to the square opening in the concrete floor, tumbled him headfirst downward.

There was a squashing, wet thud from the depths of the hollow shaft.

Swade sprang to the electric crane. He had already fastened the chains to hooks in the four sides of the wooden shaft. He turned on the motor of the crane.

The shaft began to rise. It came upward with a sucking sound. The mud at the bottom rolled like a slimy torrent over the black-robed victim. No longer held back by the hollow shaft, it engulfed him in death!

"Dead!" Kilby whispered in helpless horror. "Dead!" Swade snarled, his laughter like a vicious rasp. "The Shadow is dead!"

"No!"

THE word was calmly spoken. It came from the mouth of the dark tunnel that led to the death chamber.

It came from the living lips of - The Shadow!

He leaped forward as Swade flung up his gun. Flame spat twice from Swade's weapon. Both missed.

Forewarned, The Shadow had made no foolish headlong rush into the path of spattering lead.

In the dimly lighted chamber, The Shadow seemed to be in a dozen places at once. His black cloak blended with the gloom beyond the radius of a single dusty light bulb overhead.

His twin .45s were smashing now. The Shadow was trying to cut down Swade with a disabling shot that would not be a fatal one. He was determined to take him alive.

In the hammering concussions from rival guns, Swade realized what had happened. His gun b.u.t.t had not battered the helpless Shadow to b.l.o.o.d.y paste in the brief interval of darkness that had followed The Shadow's turning out of the light bulb overhead. The Shadow had pulled a smart subst.i.tution.

The corpse of a dead gunman, wrapped in a stolen cloak, had plunged silently to death beneath the engulfing mud.

The real Shadow had ducked silently to the black maw of the connecting tunnel, where k.n.o.bs Maletto had lurked out of sight.

Sensing this, Swade lost all sanity. He flung himself with suicidal rage into The Shadow's fire. A bullet ripped through his chest. Another tore into his throat.

Swade fell, mortally wounded.

The Shadow stared down at him with bleak eyes. Swade's life was ebbing fast. Ruthless to the end, he had managed to cheat the electric chair. He had not been killed by The Shadow. Swade had fiercely committed suicide, knowing what faced him if he lived!

The Shadow turned from the dying master criminal. k.n.o.bs Maletto stood nearby. The Shadow lipped an order. k.n.o.bs sprang to the a.s.sistance of Anthony Kilby, helped him to his dazed feet.

Kilby was babbling incoherently. On his face was a dulled, unbelieving joy.

The Shadow spoke. At the sound of his voice, Kilby quieted. The frightened babble at his lips ceased.

The blackgloved finger of The Shadow was pointing toward him.

"Innocent!" he said. It was not a question, but a statement.

"Yes! I swear it! Ask Maletto! I sent him here secretly. I tried to post him up above... on the roof -"

Kilby was unable to finish. Maletto couldn't talk either. The Shadow, aware of what each was trying vainly to say, spoke aloud what was in their minds.

Anthony Kilby was indeed innocent. Not once had Kilby intended crime or murder. He had cast his lot with Simon Swade because he had no other choice. Kilby's only motive was the recovery of forged doc.u.ments that would have blasted the reputation of his saintly father.

He had never doubted that the doc.u.ments were forged, but that had made no difference. The public likedto believe evil. The forgery was d.a.m.nably clever. Marcus Kilby's memory would have been forever smirched.

Young Kilby's actions had all been secretly on the side of the law!

It was Kilby who had prevented the "murder" of Moe Shrevnitz and Margo in the rented apartment around the corner from the movie theater. Kilby was the second masked man who had so silently attacked Swade in the rear alley. Unwilling to condone murder, he had shot Porky Cane, unaware that Porky was stabbing viciously in the dark at cunningly arranged pillows.

Using The Shadow's robes he had stolen in the movie theater, Kilby had highjacked the blackmail money from Swade at the estate of Jonah Minter. The money that k.n.o.bs Maletto had helped Kilby to highjack had already been returned secretly to Minter.