"Why do you regard it as official, colonel?"

"Because of the code number." The C.O. referred to a small book on the desk. "The number is J 29 X."

"X signifies an obsolete code -"

"Not exactly, Mr. Cranston. Simply one that has been discontinued. It would be unofficial in ordinary use; but coming from Commander Ronaldson -"

Blake stopped short, to listen to words from the radio. Bryland was announcing that he was ready for the first test; that he would first speak, then await a return call to learn if his message had been understandable.

"Coming from Commander Ronaldson," completed the C.O., facing The Shadow, "the order is official. Commander Ronaldson has sole custody of the discontinued codes. They are in his file room. While I have never known him to use X instructions previously, he has that privilege. I must regard the order as official, even though it does not bear his signature."

INSTANTLY, The Shadow gained a conclusion that might have come to any one in his position. Bryland had often been in Ronaldson's office when the commander was absent. During one of those times, the crook had entered the file room, to steal a copy of a forgotten instruction code - one of the X group that Ronaldson would never miss.

But there was more that The Shadow divined. He saw the answer to an unsolved riddle. Bryland had done more than steal Instruction Code J 29 X, memorize its simple symbols, destroy it and keep his acquired knowledge for later use.

The crook had left something in the file where the forgotten J 29 X belonged. That was where he had placed his million-dollar prize, the nation's National Emergency Code!

A quick dispatch to Creelon: "Ronaldson's File Room. J 29 X" - and the master-spy could acquire the NEC by a simple journey to a deserted, unwatched office in a building that remained open at night. Bryland had left the NEC in the safest place possible: among files that would not be touched for weeks to come.

There was a chance that The Shadow could convince Colonel Blake of the situation. Ten minutes of explanation might do it, with reference to Vic Marquette as well as to Senator Releston. But those ten minutes were suddenly becoming too important to waste in explanations.

Bryland's voice was speaking from the receiving set.

The words that the air-riding thief delivered were hopelessly garbled.

They were broken, abruptly altered by the jerky spins of the receiving dial.

Colonel Blake thought that Bryland's tuning was at fault, as the crook had said it might be. The C.O. was wrong in that supposition. The Shadow alone knew the real answer.

Bryland was broadcasting on a different eccentric; the one that he had told Creelon to tune by. Among his garbled words, he was giving the fateful message that told the hiding place of the National Emergency Code.

The Shadow did not need that information from either Bryland or Creelon.

He had learned it through his own deduction. Through his brain was thrumming the thought: "Ronaldson's File Room. J 29 X" - as plainly as if he, like Creelon, could hear Bryland speaking the words. WITH such thoughts came the urge for instant departure; one that would save the ten minutes that The Shadow wanted. That chance was at hand.

Curiously, it was Bryland who had unwittingly provided it.

The broadcasting crook had garbled his comments so completely that Colonel Blake thought the fault must be mechanical. Forgetting his prisoner, the C.O.

pointed to the receiving set; shouted angrily to the orderly: "Adjust that dial, corporal! You must have failed to arrange it according to Mr. Bryland's instructions."

The corporal hopped to the receiving set. He compared the moving dial with a sheet of paper. Bryland's voice had ended; the corporal turned to the colonel to say: "The adjustment is correct, sir -"

THE statement ended as the corporal stiffened; his eyes bulging wide. The commanding officer wheeled about to follow the orderly's gaze. Both saw a startling sight. Their prisoner, the calm Lamont Cranston, was gone. In his place was a being whose appearance was incredible.

The Shadow had whipped up his cloak and slouch hat. Donning those garments while eyes were turned away, he had become a being in black. He was sweeping toward the door, hoping to reach the corridor and gain the outer darkness beyond.

"Stop him!" bawled the C.O., grabbing for a desk drawer where he had a gun. "Bryland was right! He is dangerous!"

The corporal whipped out his service revolver. Quick on the draw, he had time to clip The Shadow before the latter could yank open the door. Knowing it, The Shadow changed tactics. Instead of grasping the doork.n.o.b, he pressed the light switch on the wall beside the doorway.

Instant blackness filled the room. The staccato barks of the corporal's revolver tongued flashes of flame toward the invisible door. Those shots would have found The Shadow, if he had retained his original objective; but The Shadow was elsewhere.

Wheeling away in the darkness, his motion drowned by the echoes of the corporal's revolver shots, The Shadow was making for the window. It was high, that window; it stood a full six feet above its low sill. Its drawn shade blocked light from outside. The Shadow was counting upon the window sash being as flimsy as the other woodwork in this office.

That was why The Shadow performed a daring move that momentarily revealed him. Whisking through the darkness, he took a long spring. His foot hit the window sill. Shoulder first, his arm high so that the cloak folds would protect him, The Shadow crashed the window with all his weight and power.

Gla.s.s clattered along with splintering wood and the ripping of the window blind. The whole frame went outward, carrying The Shadow with it.

The commanding officer and the corporal saw a cloaked shape against the dim outside light. As the corporal began to fire, The Shadow was gone. A thud from the ground below the window was token of his landing.

THE C.O. reached the shattered window with the corporal. Both had revolvers; Blake shouted for the prisoner to halt. From the darkness came an elusive, trailing laugh. Blake fired toward the spot where he thought it issued. So did the corporal. Their cartridges were no better than blanks.Hearers always guessed wrongly when they picked the source of The Shadow's laugh.

The shots from the window helped The Shadow, for they brought marines dashing into the commanding officer's quarters. Moreover, they drowned sounds by The Shadow's car, where a lone marine was standing at his post.

The Shadow was aboard the sedan; he had the key in the lock; the car in gear. He was pressing the starter before the guarding marine realized that the automobile had an occupant.

The machine whipped away, its gears whining like a traveling sh.e.l.l from a coast defense gun. Shouts and gunshots followed it; both were futile. The Shadow had studied the roadway during his slow ride to headquarters. He had seen a driveway that ran between a mess hall and a barracks building.

That was the route that he took. The sedan was beyond protecting walls before the marines could pick it with their rifles.

In the clear, the car in high, The Shadow reached the outer gate before the alarm had sounded. The guards had heard the gunfire, but did not know its cause. Their first knowledge of trouble came when they saw the furious approach of the sedan's lights.

Two uniformed men sprang out to give their challenge. They leaped away as the car lurched in their direction, threatening to ram the guardhouse. A yank of the wheel, The Shadow missed the building and hit the open road. The marines brought their rifles to their shoulders, still hoping to halt the fleeing car.

They were expert riflemen, both; they had drilled silhouette targets with rapid fire at a battle range of more than five hundred yards. Nevertheless, the marines missed The Shadow's car. He was timing his maneuvers to their shots.

The Shadow performed a high speed zigzag to the left of the road, just before the rifles belched. He skewed to the right again, then to the left. He stayed there, on the wrong side of the road, just as the marines fired final shots to the right, expecting him to swerve back.

Three seconds later, The Shadow was out of rapid-fire range. He whipped past a road bend, roared ahead toward Triangle. He was giving the old sedan its limit. The speedometer registered seventy-five. Not as good as the eighty-five that Bryland's coupe had shown; but fast enough to cover the thirty-odd miles to Washington in half an hour.

THE SHADOW counted upon slow action at Quantico; and with good reason.

His arrest had been a technical matter, handled on government property. It would take a while for the marine commandant to convince the Virginia authorities that the State police should take over a task that belonged to the marine corps.

Speed cops were The Shadow's main problem; and it was miles before he pa.s.sed one, going in the opposite direction. The motor cycle officer halted, too late to check the sedan's license number. He began pursuit, from a long way behind.

Ahead were the lights of Alexandria. The Shadow slowed; took side streets and saw the State patrolman travel by.

The minutes lost in Alexandria were not to be regained; but The Shadow was almost back to schedule as he took the last stretch to Washington. The motor cycle cop was far ahead, still trying to catch up with a lost speeder. The Shadow kept his car at seventy.

Washington shone ahead, the glow of the Capitol building vying with the glare about the Washington Monument. The Shadow saw the light-reflectingwaters of the Potomac. Off at an angle, he spied distant lights that marked the naval air base.

High in the air were thin beams of light, dropping downward. A plane was making a landing. The Shadow knew the ident.i.ty of the men in the descending ship. Bryland had been informed by radio of The Shadow's escape. Still in good standing, the crook had ordered Lieutenant Collings to land him at Washington.

Bryland had postponed his Havana flight until later.

With his message to Creelon, Bryland had ended that contact. In case of trouble from The Shadow, Bryland would have to meet it. That was why he had turned northward, hoping to overtake The Shadow's speeding car.

Bryland's plane had landed when The Shadow reached the Potomac bridge. A weird laugh sounded from The Shadow's lips. The Shadow had beaten Bryland in this chase. Yet The Shadow's laugh showed grimness, rather than triumph.

The game was not ended, even though Bryland had been outraced. There was still a chance that The Shadow might be too late to gain the NEC.

The Shadow was considering the other factor in this final episode. Coming minutes could bring a new meeting with Hugo Creelon.

CHAPTER XVIII.

TRIPLE STRATEGY.

ALL was quiet near the navy building when The Shadow arrived there. The side street was deserted; there were plenty of parking s.p.a.ces farther along.

The Shadow left his car near the next corner. He came back swiftly to the little doorway that meant the route to Commander Ronaldson's file room.

Blue lights were glowing from the high-set first floor windows; proof that night work was in progress there. The second floor was black. Access would be easy to the office where Bryland had hidden the National Emergency Code.

The Shadow entered the little-used door. He followed the first-floor corridor, past shut rooms where workers were busy. The only inside token that those rooms were occupied was the light that came from transoms.

No one was present to eye the eerie, gliding figure of The Shadow as the cloaked arrival took the stairway to the second floor. There was a dim light in the upper corridor. The Shadow pa.s.sed it; in the fringe of darkness, he came to Ronaldson's door.

The k.n.o.b gave under pressure. The door was not locked; there was little reason why it should be. No one had ever suspected that a thief would seek obsolete and discarded papers, of no further importance to the navy department.

The locking of the outer door downstairs was considered sufficient protection for these inner offices.

The Shadow stepped into the darkened anteroom. His opening of the outer door brought a flicker of light from the corridor; the momentary glow was reflected by the gla.s.s panel of Ronaldson's private office. Then The Shadow was moving through pitch blackness. He opened the gla.s.s-paneled door.

The inner office was as silent as The Shadow had expected it to be. He had seen no lights from the street, when he had glanced up to the windows of this room.

Noiselessly, The Shadow reached the file room, opened its door and edged through the darkness. Here, again, his route seemed sure. He had seen no lights that indicated persons in the file room. Closing the door tight, The Shadow glimmered a tiny flashlight. He saw the identifying marks on file cabinets. He followed them, alphabetically; came to one marked "3" that stood against the side wall.

That wall was closer than The Shadow had supposed. On any other occasion, he would have paused to learn the reason. To-night, for once, The Shadow had found an urge that suppressed his natural bent toward calculating caution.

Forgetting everything else, he slid the file cabinet open.

The flashlight showed that he had found the right drawer. Here were folders, each with the letter "J," followed by numbers; then the symbol "X."

The folder "J 29 X" was thicker than the rest. From it, The Shadow produced a packet almost the size of a half-ream ma.n.u.script.

Placing the prize upon the opened drawer, The Shadow thumbed the pages beneath the tiny orb of the flashlight. A dozen seconds were all that he needed to recognize his find. The Shadow had acquired the National Emergency Code, intact.

SINCE Hugo Creelon was informed of this hiding place; since Frederick Bryland was already on the way here, The Shadow had but one policy. On his own, he could afford the risk of battle. But with the NEC at stake, departure was his only course. The code must reach the right hands before The Shadow took personal action against either of the crooks who had tried to murder him.

The Shadow's light went out. The drawer slithered shut. Clutching the clamped pages of the priceless NEC, The Shadow turned to start from the file room. He took three gliding strides; then paused.

There was motion in this room. Creeping sounds told that The Shadow was not alone. Listeners had heard his entry; watchers had seen the glimmers of his light. For the first time, The Shadow was conscious of those stealthy lurkers.

He knew that they intended to block him before he reached the door.

Noiselessly, The Shadow halted; reversed his course to file cabinet 3.

There was a corner s.p.a.ce beyond that steel cabinet. The Shadow wedged himself there; still gripping the NEC with one hand, he drew an automatic with the other. Across the top of the cabinet, The Shadow leveled his .45 straight for the door.

Timed almost to The Shadow's aim, a click came from near the doorway.

With it, blackness ended. Ceiling lights glowed throughout the file room. His hat brim shading his eyes from the sudden glare, The Shadow saw the challenger who had pressed the switch.

Hugo Creelon was standing near the door, pointing a revolver toward the path along which he expected The Shadow. The spy's aim was out of line with The Shadow's position. It was The Shadow who held the bulge. His advantage, though, was offset by the fact that Creelon was not alone.

With the master-spy were three of his hard-faced followers, each armed like the leader. Spread through the file room, they were also covering The Shadow's supposed path. They blinked when they did not see The Shadow; but Creelon, staring in the direction of cabinet "J," gave a snarl of defiance.

The Shadow interrupted with a command that all could hear: "One move, Creelon, will mean your death! One move, from either you or your men!" CREELON'S pale face was straight-lipped; as frigid as if it had been made of marble. The spy saw the glow of The Shadow's eyes. He rasped an order to his men.

"Stand as you are! Hold your posts until I order otherwise!"

Creelon had accepted The Shadow's order until he could think it over.

Meanwhile, The Shadow was recognizing how he had been mistaken before his entry here. The file room was smaller than The Shadow supposed; it did not extend as far as the outer wall of the building.

The black windows that The Shadow had seen next to Ronaldson's were those of other offices. Creelon had been searching the file room when The Shadow arrived.

One of the spy's men must have been at the stairway, to catch a lucky glimpse of the streak of blackness cast by The Shadow's approaching form. The fellow had reported to Creelon. Prompt as ever, the master-spy had transformed the file room into a snare.

As it now stood, the trapper was trapped; but Creelon's tightened lips showed that he was shaping a plan. Soon, the spy spoke. His words betokened trouble for The Shadow.

"You will be wise to hold your fire," declared Creelon. "Whether or not your first shot kills me, it will mean your certain doom! My men will riddle you, the moment that you begin!"

The threat was not idle. Creelon, alone, stood where he was an open target. That was at the wide s.p.a.ce by the door. His men, like The Shadow, had the partial protection of file cabinets. The Shadow would have three difficult marks; Creelon's sharpshooters would all have only one.

Chances for survival were slim, and The Shadow recognized it. These were the shock troops of Creelon's squad. They were itching to train their guns upon The Shadow. If he dropped, they could come over their cabinets, to wing their shots through the opening of the corner s.p.a.ce. In choosing the only spot that afforded temporary security, The Shadow had put himself in a fixed position.

Nevertheless, he felt that the odds were even. The Shadow's response to Creelon's threat was a low, intoned laugh that did not please the master-spy.

It signified that the first shot would be sufficient to spell Creelon's finish, no matter what difficulties might follow for The Shadow.

Creelon promptly tried another tack.

"You will lose the NEC," he stated, choppily. "If we both die, one or more of my men will survive. They have their instructions. The NEC will reach the emba.s.sy."

Creelon paused, confident that his statement had impressed The Shadow.

Thinking the time right, the spy offered terms.

"Your life for mine," he suggested. "Let me deliver the code at the emba.s.sy, then go my way. Your cause will not be lost. You may still be able to persuade the emba.s.sy that the National Emergency Code should not leave Washington."