"Don't let that White Skull bother you," spoke Cranston. "It's just a symbol. It comes as an after-effect of looking at Sark's picture. I have an idea that the photograph was specially posed."

From across the cafe, Jud was watching everything; his own experience was an index that told him what Margo's horror was all about. Jud saw Cranston replace the photo on the table and lean forward to talk to Margo, who answered with understanding nods. That was about all that Jud needed to conjecture that one or the other - or perhaps both - were thinking in immediate terms of Alban Sark. Edging from his chair, Jud went to the pay telephone to put in another phone call to Gail North.

Jud's guess was right.

"Sark is now a hunted man," Cranston was telling Margo. "Don't ask me all the details, because they're what I'm trying to learn and theories are tooplentiful to keep adding more. But being hunted, Sark will not be dangerous if approached innocently or mildly.

"Sark's chief enemy is a man named Tanjor Zune, who uses an intermediary named Ludar to reach Sark. Just where Ludar stands is a question; the phone calls that I overheard between him and Sark still leave the issue in doubt. We now know that Kromer is also in the game, definitely on Zune's side. You can mention these facts as seems fit."

Margo began to stammer.

"But how - but - but why -"

"How are you going to see Sark?" queried Cranston. "Simply enough, by calling on him at this address." Cranston placed a card in Margo's hand. "Why should you go to see him? Because you are suspicious of Gail North. She's working for her father, so you think, to help him cover up a lot of shady business which he intends to blame on people who trusted him - like myself."

Margo was nodding now and with a.s.surance. A man as canny and mysterious as Sark would doubtless know that Gail was checking on him and that in turn Cranston had been watching Gail. What was more logical than that Cranston's girl friend, Margo Lane, would move into a picture where another woman was involved?

From his phone booth, Jud was watching Cranston and Margo leave the cafe.

He was talking to Gail now, for she had finally arrived home. Any doubts that Jud had so far cherished about visiting Sark's premises, were herewith vanished.

"Get into your hat and hurry," Jud was telling Gail. "I'll be around in the cab right away... No, not the one you stole, this is a local job I hired for the evening... Yes, we're going to Sark's, that's why I need you to show the way...

Of course we'll crack into the place. We want to be there when somebody else arrives..."

Leaving Gail to worry over that one, Jud hurried from the restaurant, took a look to make sure that Cranston and Margo were really gone, then climbed into Shrevvy's waiting cab.

Jud Mayhew thought that he was stealing a march on everyone tonight, including The Shadow!

CHAPTER X.

SARK'S house looked like a skull in its own right. Yawning from a row of forgotten brownstone residences, it was one of those architectural monstrosities that had characterized Manhattan at the turn of the century.

Built to stay, the building had, and it was unquestionably the best in an otherwise dilapidated block. It's skull effect was due to the grilled windows on the ground floor, their bars giving the effect of leering teeth; while the hollow nose was a second floor balcony; the eyes, tall, gloomy windows belonging to the higher stories.

The commodious limousine that rolled past Sark's paused only slightly as though its chauffeur were taking precautions against bad paving in this ancient block. That slackening speed however marked the advent of The Shadow, creature of blackness who preferred such shrouded surroundings. From the moment that he reached the darkened sidewalk, The Shadow was literally swallowed by the night.

Next, The Shadow was moving up the building wall, the grillwork serving him as a ladder. Another climber might have been noticed; but not The Shadow. Even the men who were moving into the block in the wake of the departed limousine, were unable to discern him. They of all people should have, for they were the agents who formed The Shadow's own clan.

Reaching the jutting balcony, The Shadow paused there; then, continuing higher, he skirted the dim windows that might have barely revealed him. His goal was the roof, on the chance that it afforded a trapdoor entry. If not, The Shadow could return to one of the tall windows and make an entrance there.

This night's business was hazardous, risking not only The Shadow's life but those of his agents, by a margin which might exist only in The Shadow's imagination.

If The Shadow was right, all was right. If wrong, this expedition could mean complete obliteration.

As a ma.s.s proposition, the issue lay between The Shadow and an unknown foe named Tanjor Zune. Just as The Shadow had his crew of competent agents, so did Zune, whoever he might be. Mystery shrouded The Shadow, but the same was true of Zune. When it came to action, The Shadow's agents, though capable against great odds, were faced with an opposition that even their chief could not outweigh.

If Tanjor Zune unleashed the forces that he had used in Stanwich, this entire block might crumble or explode, eliminating everybody in it. But in calculating that fact, The Shadow had come to the conclusion that the residence of Alban Sark was free of such danger.

To liquidate Sark in his own home, or to wreck the place itself, would give away Zune's game. Zune wanted to be rid of Sark, but he could only try it in settings such as Stanwich. Zune might attempt to capture Sark, should the latter still be alive, in these premises that were Sark's own. But Zune wouldn't unleash total destruction - or at least so The Shadow hoped.

Five minutes after the pa.s.sing limousine had disgorged the fleeting figure of The Shadow, a cab pulled into the block and dropped two pa.s.sengers. That done, the cab went around the corner to remain on call. It was Shrevvy's cab and the persons from it were Jud Mayhew and Gail North.

Jud and Gail hadn't stopped at Sark's front door for a very good reason.

They didn't intend to use that door. In fact, one look at the place decided Jud that they wouldn't be able to enter at all, but Gail drew him into a little pa.s.sage that formed a blind alley beside the brownstone house. There Gail whispered: "Look!"

Jud looked back toward the street, and didn't like what he saw. There were lurking places in the form of house steps across the way and Jud thought he saw figures shifting there, as though prowlers were getting a vantage spot to watch what happened in the blind alley.

"Not out there, silly!" undertoned Gail. "Here, above this brick wall.The little window. I think we can squeeze through it, don't you?"

Staring upward, Jud saw the window that Gail meant. It was directly above the six foot wall that blocked off the alley and it wasn't barred. It looked like a stairway window, which had been cla.s.sed as inaccessible, because someone had forgotten about the brick wall being just below it.

Feeling that retreat to the street had been blocked off, Jud decided that the window was a good bet. Cupping his hands, he extended them to Gail and decided: "Let's try it! Up!"

Inserting her foot in the step that Jud provided, Gail reached the top of the wall with her other knee. Standing up, she couldn't quite reach the little window, but she was able to give Jud a helping hand that sped his own progress to the wall-top. In his turn, Jud reached the window, worked it open, and hauled himself up through. Within he found a stair way landing and reaching out, he prepared to help Gail follow.

Right then, Gail gave a warning whisper.

Sudden alarm filled Jud, not for himself, but for Gail. As she stood there, the girl formed a tense, rigid target, had anyone started shooting from the street. True, Gail was wearing a dark gray dress, which reduced visibility, but her red hair wasn't fully concealed by her tam-o-shanter hat, while her trim legs, encased in sun-tan stockings, might have been seen from a distance.

Besides, Gail's face showed very white in the darkness.

Then, the reason for her strain became evident. Jud felt relieved as Gail expressed it.

"It's a car!" The girl told Jud. "Stopping in front of the house!"

"All the more reason to hurry," returned Jud, gripping Gail's elbows to hoist her upward. "It's probably just Sark."

"But I'm sure Sark is dead -"

"And I'm sure he isn't. Not that fox. He knew they were after him - say, look out! You'll be breaking your neck if you aren't careful!"

Jud added this as Gail came headlong through the little window. Her dress catching on a hook, Gail tried to wrench it free and as a result peeled her shoulders right out of it. Her arms entangling in sleeves, Gail couldn't ward her fall with her hands and she went sprawling backward, her head aimed for the steps.

Fortunately, the steps went downward, otherwise Gail would have bashed her head at floor level. Jud was able to catch her shoulders and turn her sprawl into a half somersault which finally ended when Gail's flying feet hooked the banister posts. There was plenty of clatter in all this, but it was drowned by the dull clangor of the front door bell, ringing long and impatiently.

"That's a break," declared Jud. "Sit down and catch your breath."

Shaking back her ruffled hair, Gail sat on the steps and fished the torn back of her dress up to her neck, where she pinned it with a brooch that she was wearing.

"Lucky I wore this brooch," decided Gail, "but don't worry about the noise we made, Jud. There's n.o.body home."

The bell lulled at that moment and from below, Jud heard the slow tread of footsteps. He looked at Gail and said: "No?"

In the dull gloom of that stairway, Gail turned very pale. In herdaylight trips past this house, she had come to the conclusion that Sark lived alone here. Since last night, Gail had felt equally sure that Alban Sark was dead.

Now, the sound of those footsteps, slow, ominous with their drag, made her think of something ghostly.

"It can't be Sark," whispered Jud, without understanding Gail's pallor.

"It's probably just some old servant who works for him. But that may be Sark at the door. Let's sneak down and take a look."

A dim light appeared in the hallway below and dispelled most of Gail's ghost theory; therefore she was willing to accept Jud's plan, particularly as he motioned for her to be cautious as they descended the stairs.

In fact, the appearance of the light was better received by Gail than it was by another young lady who had been ringing the door-bell. Out on the front steps, Margo Lane had been hoping her ring wouldn't be answered.

Now the drawing of big bolts was a worrisome sound and Margo looked hopelessly toward the street. Cranston's limousine hadn't waited after bringing her here on its second trip and Margo felt very much deserted. Maybe that was good psychology, for it caused her to face the door as it opened.

Inside stood an old, tired-faced servant, who bowed quite sc.r.a.pingly.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said, in quavery style. "I am sorry, but no one is at home."

Margo became emphatic.

"But I want to see Mr. Sark."

"Sorry, he isn't here, miss -"

The servant changed from one t.i.tle to another because he could see Margo more clearly now and she looked younger in the light. The reason she was in the light was because she was pressing her way into the hallway. To the servant, Margo said boldly: "And who are you, to tell me Mr. Sark isn't in when I'm so sure he is?"

"My name is Tobias, miss," the servant explained. "I wouldn't be here if Mr. Sark was, because I'm just a hired caretaker. I'm only here when Mr. Sark is away."

Margo was looking toward the stairs, thinking she saw motion there. If she had seen such, it withdrew from the light before she could identify it.

Thinking in terms of The Shadow, Margo was a trifle worried, knowing that he wouldn't have shown himself unless purposely.

"Mr. Sark won't like it," began Tobias. "To have people coming in unannounced is something he wouldn't approve -"

"Are you sure?"

The question came in a short, clipped tone that made Tobias wheel. There, standing at the lighted door of what was evidently a study, was Alban Sark.

Head bowed toward the light, his chin thrust forward in its challenging style, the man's features matched his photograph to the dot.

Margo had never seen a face so frozen, so artificial in expression. If Cranston's face had often impressed her as masklike, Sark's could be described as having no mask at all, not even a human one.

Sark lifted his head and his face caught some light, but its cold, gray resemblance to a skull worried Margo all the more. Then, dismissing Tobias with a wave, Sark gestured Margo across the threshold of the study. Timidly, the girladvanced; once inside, she waited, ready to run out through the door again if Sark started to close it.

Hand on the door, Sark closed it, but only part way. Through his teeth, which seemed to smile only because his lips were spread like an oval around them, Sark gritted a laugh. Yet the laugh itself was not unpleasant. Sark's character, like his picture and its after-image, seemed to run in positive and negative.

Bowing the girl to a chair, Sark turned to a corner of the old-fashioned but well furnished room. Riveted, Margo sat there, her eyes glued to the figure that reminded her of some monstrous raven, a logical simile, because Alban Sark was unquestionably a creature of prey.

So strained was Margo Lane that she didn't hear the slight creaks from the hallway, announcing interlopers who intended to view her meeting with Alban Sark.

Jud Mayhew and Gail North too had their interest in the affairs of the strange man who lived in this strange house!

CHAPTER XI.

IF Alban Sark had any virtue, it was patience. The reason he had stepped to the corner was to open a large, old-fashioned safe that stood there.

Apparently the safe was balky, as was often the case with old worn combinations, for Sark had to begin over half a dozen times. Yet Margo, in her turn, felt that this might simply be a stall.

Perhaps Sark was expecting someone else!

That thought turned Margo's attention to the hall and she was briefly conscious of the creaks, which ceased immediately. The door was opened in Margo's direction, hence she couldn't see beyond it, but she gained an increasing impression that some one was peering in from the hall.

Then the safe clattered open and Sark, rising from beside it, brought a stack of doc.u.ments that he laid on the desk near Margo.

"Mr. Cranston would like these," announced Sark, in his choppy tone. "You will take them to him, Miss Lane."

Margo stared, quite amazed.

"You will tell him that I am in danger," continued Sark. "There was a plot against my life in Stanwich. Fortunately I foiled it."

Again, Margo nodded, but now it was dawning on her that Sark was merely coming up to expectations. If able to cope with such enemies as the mysterious Tanjor Zune and the band which served him, Alban Sark should certainly be capable of checking on others who moved into his affairs.

"I shall remain here," declared Sark, bluntly, "but I want no further visitors. Things might happen to them for which I could not be held responsible.

Now you must leave, Miss Lane."

As he spoke, Sark rolled the papers and affixed a rubber band around them.

Politely, he stepped toward the door, as if to open it further for Margo's departure. His stride at that moment was exceptionally silent and swift, for a reason which evidenced itself a moment later.

So rapidly that Margo blinked, Sark whipped the door wide, wheeled around it, and snapped a revolver from his pocket. An instant later he was covering

two.

startled people who stood flat-footed on the threshold: Jud Mayhew and GailNorth.