He is kind, he is thoughtful, he is trustworthy. Simon Swade, your best friend."

"Simon Swade," the hypnotized banker repeated like a child. "My best friend."

"Go to him. Tell him your trouble. Be guided by his advice. He will not betray your secret. He will help you to avoid danger. So you must remember what I say. Go to Simon Swade and trust him implicitly."

"I must remember. Go to Simon Swade and trust him."

There was silence in the room. The glittering disk continued to whirl. Kilby's drowsy voice spoke again after a moment.

"Soon you will awake. You will awake when I cough. When you awake, you will remember only what I wish you to. This is known as post-suggestion, but you needn't remember that, Jonah Minter. The important thing to remember is that Simon Swade is your best friend. The only other things I want you to remember upon awakening are these simple facts: You had a heart attack; I gave you a drink of water; you recovered. Is that clear?"

"That is clear," Minter parroted.

Anthony Kilby stepped swiftly away from the chair. He turned off the whirling disk and the bright light above it. Stepping back to the chair, he held the partly empty gla.s.s of water to Minter's lips.

He coughed.

The banker stirred, sat up confusedly.

"That's better," Kilby said in a natural voice. "How do you feel now?

"I feel all right," Jonah Minter said. "I'm sorry I bothered you with my fainting spell. I get these heart attacks fairly often. This wasn't a particularly bad one. Thank you for the gla.s.s of water."

He rose from the chair. Color had returned to his cheeks.

"Don't you want to rest a while?" Kilby inquired.

"No. I have things to do. I have a friend I particularly want to see."

"Ah," Kilby said softly. "Do I know him?"

"Simon Swade." "An excellent fellow," Kilby said. "My late father was quite fond of him. A dependable and discreet business man."

He shook hands with Minter and rang for Oliphant. The butler escorted Minter from the consulting room to the street.

Anthony Kilby waited a while in silence. Then, chuckling, he rose and left the room.

Kilby's mirth was echoed from another quarter. The Shadow emerged silently from behind the heavy window drape. His black-cloaked figure moved toward the ma.s.sive safe in the corner of the consulting room.

The Shadow did not know the combination of that safe. His gla.s.s had not been strong enough for him to detect the actual numbers to which Kilby had turned the dial when he had opened the safe.

But The Shadow had watched the back and forth turns of that slow-moving dial. He knew the approximate distance to right and left each turn had made.

Delicate fingertips, ears trained to an almost superhuman pitch of concentration, would do the rest.

Stripping off his gloves, The Shadow tackled the problem.

In less than five minutes, the ponderous lock of the safe froze. The door swung open. The Shadow examined the envelopes in the steel compartment at the rear of the safe.

He knew that Anthony Kilby had lied when he had examined the second torn envelope. It contained only blank sheets of paper.

The truth was clear to The Shadow. A gigantic blackmail scheme was under way. It involved every wealthy patient who had ever consulted the elder Kilby for help.

Simon Swade was part of that criminal conspiracy. So was the cunning son of a righteous father.

But more things had to be learned before The Shadow was ready to strike. Proof must be a.s.sembled.

Victims must be protected.

As soundlessly as he had invaded the consulting room, The Shadow departed.

He had a date to visit a bank!

CHAPTER V. A FAVOR FOR PORKY.

THE Mid-Gotham Bank occupied the whole street floor of an imposing skysc.r.a.per in the Grand Central zone.

It was here that The Shadow went with the twenty-five-dollar check that he had persuaded Anthony Kilby to give him.

The Shadow was well known in this bank in his ident.i.ty of Lamont Cranston. He kept a checking account here, as he did in most of the important banks of Manhattan.

He didn't go near any of the teller windows where lines of people waited. Instead, he glanced toward an open enclosure behind a marble railing. Here sat the most important officials of the bank, including Jonah Minter, the president. But today Minter's desk was unoccupied.

The Shadow, of course, knew why. Opening the ornamental gate in the railing, he approached another desk. A tall, rather handsome man sat there. His name was Norman Leeter. He was one of the bank's vice presidents.

He smiled cordially. A man who customarily maintained a large balance, Lamont Cranston was a customer to be handled with courtesy.

The Shadow presented his small check.

"Sorry to bother you, but the time is limited and all the teller windows seem to be busy. Would it be too much trouble to cash this check for me?"

"Not at all. If you will endorse it, I'll take it into the cage myself." He glanced at the check. "From Dr.

Kilby, eh? Splendid young chap. A credit to his father. You are a trustee of the estate, aren't you?"

Cranston nodded. The conversation was taking the turn he wanted.

"Yes. This small check is to defray expenses I had to pay out of my own personal funds. Young Kilby was good enough to send it to me. And by the way, Mr. Leeter, you can help me with another bit of information."

"Gladly."

"It's about a much larger check. Or perhaps it was in cash. I'm alluding to a deposit that Anthony Kilby probably made within the past day or so."

Leeter frowned. Officers of the bank were not supposed to give out information concerning the affairs of their customers. Knowing this, Cranston spoke quickly.

"I asked merely to save me a trip to Kilby's home. As a trustee of his father's estate, I'm anxious to wind up my duties as soon as possible. A knowledge of the sum Kilby deposited yesterday will help me considerably."

"I don't think there'll be any harm in accommodating you, Mr. Cranston. As a matter of fact, you're not the first one to ask about a depositor today. Inspector Cardona of the police, was here a little while ago.

He wanted information concerning another of our customers."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. A man named Seton Quinn. Perhaps you read in the papers about his strange murder. Cardona was hoping to learn something from Quinn's account that might turn up a clue to his murderer."

"And did he?"

"No. Quinn was a queer man. He did what really amounted to a cash business. I don't recall that he ever deposited a check. Whenever he drew money it was invariably done with a check made out to cash."

The Shadow looked bored. Leeter took the hint. He departed for the cage. In a few minutes he was back with Cranston's cash.

"I've found out what you wanted," he said. "Dr. Kilby did make a deposit yesterday. In fact, he made two. But the largest one was in cash. Fifty thousand dollars, to be exact." "You spoke of two deposits. Was the second in cash also?"

"No. That was a check. I brought it here, in case you wished to verify it for your trustee account."

Cranston glanced at the check. He did not expect it to be signed by Seton Quinn. He was sure that nothing as direct as that would have been attempted by the foxy Quinn.

The check was for a thousand dollars. It was drawn to Anthony Kilby and endorsed by him.

It was signed by Simon Swade!

The Shadow allowed no hint of his satisfaction to show on his face. But it was added proof that a grim triangle of crime had existed. Quinn had been one side of the triangle - until he had been neatly liquidated.

Kilby was the second. Swade was the third.

THE SHADOW left Leeter's desk at once, but he was slow about leaving the bank. He had noticed an unusually grave look on the face of the uniformed guard who stood just inside the bank's door.

Cranston knew the attendant well. His name was Pat Hendrix. He usually had a sunny smile and a polite word for everyone who pa.s.sed him. Now he seemed tense and suspicious.

The Shadow didn't wonder about the matter. He walked over and asked the reason.

"I dunno, Mr. Cranston," Hendrix said. "I'm worried. I'm a bit afraid of trouble."

"Trouble? I hope your wife is not ill."

"No, sir. She's O.K. It's the bank I'm thinking about. It's Mr. Minter."

He glanced toward the empty desk of Jonah Minter behind the railed enclosure. Cranston's smile encouraged him to talk.

Hendrix's story brought a gleam to The Shadow's eyes.

A man had entered the bank an hour or so earlier. He seemed sullen and nervous. Pat Hendrix spotted him at once and kept an eye on him. The fellow had the sly look of a crook; perhaps a lookout on the prowl for some bank mob. When he walked toward the railed enclosure, Hendrix started to interfere.

But Minter had waved the bank guard away.

"Mr. Minter seemed frightened, sir," Hendrix went on. "But orders is orders. I didn't b.u.t.t in. The tough lad walked to Minter's desk and they whispered a while. Then the fellow left. A few minutes later, Minter left, too. That's what got me worried!"

"Why?"

"I've got a hunch that ugly-faced rat threatened Mr. Minter. Minter said he felt ill when he brushed past me and hurried off. But he wasn't ill. He was sick with terror! I tell you, I don't like it at all! I spoke guardedly to Mr. Leeter, but he wasn't impressed. Do you think I ought to notify the police?"

The Shadow shook his head. Aware already of the ugly nature of the trouble that threatened Minter, he didn't want police interference. Only The Shadow could handle the terrible threat that faced the bank president!

"What did this tough-looking stranger look like?" Cranston asked. Hendrix described him. The description tallied with information already in The Shadow's possession.

The man at the bank was the same thug who had made a vicious effort to stab Moe Shrevnitz to death outside the brownstone home of Seton Quinn!

The Shadow showed no evidence of his inner elation at this piece of news. He murmured a reply to Pat Hendrix and took his departure.

He drove rapidly to the Cobalt Club. There, as Lamont Cranston, he picked up his mail and ascended in the club elevator to the suite he always used when in town.

It was a safe spot for confidential telephone calls. As soon as he had locked the door, The Shadow called an unlisted number. He was answered almost instantly by an alert voice: "Burbank speaking."

Burbank was The Shadow's contact man. His job was to receive and transmit information that pertained to the activities of The Shadow's agents.

Burbank received crisp orders. With the orders went a careful description of the thug who had frightened Jonah Minter at the Mid-Gotham Bank. The description and orders were for Cliff Marsland, another of The Shadow's secret agents.

When The Shadow hung up, laughter welled sibilantly from his lips. Marsland was a perfect choice for the a.s.signment.

PORKY CANE came grinning. Porky wasn't much on the grinning side ordinarily. But he was always ready to unbend a little when he met a right guy.

Tonight, Porky was convinced that he had run into just such a pal. He sat in a dimly lit restaurant on the east side of Manhattan. It was a restaurant that didn't advertise, or use any bright lights above the doorway. It catered to an underworld clientele.

Porky's pal was a crook named Cliff Marsland. At least, that was what Porky thought. He didn't know - any more than did a host of other deluded criminals - that Marsland was no longer an enemy of the law, but was working for The Shadow.

With the description from Burbank fresh in his mind, Cliff was as friendly as Porky Cane. He knew that Porky was the thug who had tried to kill Moe Shrevnitz, who had scared Jonah Minter into racing off to the consulting room of Anthony Kilby.

A couple of drinks had taken the edge off Porky's scowl. Now it was Cliff who pretended to scowl.

"What's bitin' you?" Porky said. "You look like you lost your last dime down a sewer."

"Close to that," Cliff admitted. "I've had a tough break lately. I'm busted, an' no kiddin'."

Porky grinned. It was something to be able to show off to a hard-sh.e.l.led old-timer in crime like Cliff Marsland. Under cover of the table edge, he slipped a wallet from his pocket. It was thick and bulging.

Cliff let his eyes bulge, too, as he saw the size of the roll of bills that Porky showed him.

"Boy, you must be a big shot. You're in the money!"

"Oh, just fair. I can always spare a twenty for a right guy." He peeled off a twenty-dollar bill and slipped it to Cliff. Cliff was husky with grat.i.tude.

"How about cutting me in on a little job some time?"