"One of your bedroom windows opens on the little courtyard," he told Helene. "I want you to watch from there. Should you hear Froy move about, or should anyone return, tap the window and hurry into bed. Otherwise, wait until you see three blinks - red, green, and white - of my flashlight. After that, you need watch no longer."

WITH Helene on her way upstairs, The Shadow went out by the side door.

From her window, the girl saw the tiny flashlight cross the courtyard, throwing a steady beam, though occasionally the folds of a black cloak m.u.f.fled it.

Knowing that Louise might return and look in to see if she happened to be awake, Helene discarded slippers and kimono, to be ready for a quick trip into bed. She had left the door slightly ajar, so that she would surely hear anyone who entered.

The Shadow's light was probing below the wall of the house next door. For several minutes Helene couldn't guess his purpose, until she realized that he was directly opposite the window that faced the door of Rendrew's study.

The Shadow was looking for the bullet that had broken the window as a result of the wild, superfluous shot that had been fired after Rendrew's death!

Such search did not explain why The Shadow wanted the bullet in question.

At first, Helene felt that the hunt would prove a hopeless one; but as she watched, she decided otherwise. The bullet must have dropped after it struck the wall; the area where The Shadow was looking for it could not be very large.

Ten minutes had pa.s.sed, when Helene heard a sound from the floor below; then footsteps on the side stairs. She reached to tap the window; at that instant, the flashlight licked up against the wall and delivered three short blinks - red, green, and white. The Shadow's search was ended, making Helene's signal unnecessary.

Quickly, the girl reached the door and closed it. Scampering to the bed, she was under the covers, except for her head and shoulders, when the door opened. Louise stood there and softly spoke Helene's name. Receiving no response, the blonde entered and approached the bed.

By the light from the hallway, Louise observed that Helene was wearing only her nightie and therefore a.s.sumed that she was asleep. Eyes tight shut, Helene heard Louise tiptoe out into the hallway and close the door behind her.

Then Helene Graymond was staring at the darkened ceiling. Wide awake, she was wondering about Dwight Kelden and what this evening's events might mean to him. She felt more hopeful regarding Dwight's innocence; still, she wasn't sure.

As sleep finally came upon her, Helene was convinced that one person, alone, could solve the riddle of recent crime.

That person was her new friend, The Shadow!

CHAPTER X

CRIME'S NEW ANGLES.

ALL the next morning, Helene Graymond tried to a.s.sure herself that she had helped The Shadow; but she didn't manage to convince herself. Just what value The Shadow could have found from his clues, was something very speculative, in Helene's opinion.

The law, she learned from John Osman, had welded a new link against Dwight. The chain now had three, Rendrew's torn calendar, the eyegla.s.s wiper, and an airplane schedule from the cab that had carried the murderer along in his flight.

The Shadow's clues were a last-year's calendar, a pair of books that he had noted on the list, and a mashed bullet. He had taken neither the calendar nor the books, and Helene could not even be sure that he had found the bullet.

So far as the girl knew, The Shadow's clues, if they had any value at all, might clinch the case against Dwight Kelden, instead of helping him.

Of all factors, the most encouraging was Helene's absolute confidence in The Shadow's ability to gain results. She was sure that he had waged that gun battle on the roof near her apartment. Moreover, The Shadow had learned one fact that no one else had even guessed at; namely, that Helene was in love with Dwight.

With all his questions, Joe Cardona had not found that out. Nor had John Osman, in whose office Helene worked every day. Archie Dreller, with all his shrewdness had not guessed the truth; nor had his sister Louise, who fancied herself so clever. As for Froy, Helene was sure that the soft-footed servant shared the same ignorance.

Yet The Shadow, in his first meeting with Helene, had struck upon the very point that the girl had so successfully concealed from everyone else!

There was a simple answer to that riddle. The Shadow knew that Dwight had tried to signal Helene from the hotel room. His interpretation of Dwight's presence was therefore at variance with the theory that the suspected murderer had wanted to kidnap the star witness.

Obviously, Dwight wanted to reach Helene, but hadn't risked a phone call; which meant that he was afraid the girl had been unable to cover some secret which they had in common.

From that, The Shadow had readily conjectured the existence of a romance, and had foreseen that Helene would be only too glad to aid anyone who might hold an impartial att.i.tude toward Dwight.

Unfortunately, Helene had placed herself where it would be difficult for Dwight again to seek her. She couldn't leave the Rendrew mansion for the present, and Dwight would certainly think a long while before making a phone call there, let alone a visit.

Like the law, The Shadow would have to hunt blindly for Dwight, if he wanted him; but there, the similarity ended.

It happened that The Shadow was no longer anxious to find Dwight Kelden!

That news would have astonished Helene, had she heard it; but, again, it was a riddle with a simple answer. The Shadow intended to crack the case from another angle. If that succeeded, Dwight would appear upon the scene of his own volition.

Other persons had figured in the affairs of Adam Rendrew and the dead man's relatives. With all suspicion centered upon Dwight, and the fact proclaimed by the newspapers, those parties would soon behave less warily. The Shadow was depending upon their moves to start new progress. THE soundness of The Shadow's policy was proven early in the afternoon, when The Shadow lunched with Commissioner Weston. Gladdened when he learned that his friend Cranston was suffering from his accident no more than he had the previous night when they dined together, Weston was chatting about airplanes, instead of crime, when Inspector Cardona dropped into the grillroom.

With him, Cardona brought the bullet that had been taken from Andrew's body and commented upon its importance.

"It's from a .38 revolver," stated Joe, "and if we ever find the gun that fired it, there won't be any trouble identifying it. The slug stayed in good condition, even if Rendrew didn't."

Weston examined the bullet, pa.s.sed it to Cranston, whose lips showed a slight smile as he weighed the pellet in his hand. Then, before Weston could ask if progress had been made in the search for Dwight, Cardona popped some news that he hoped would divert the commissioner from the touchy subject.

"Remember that fellow Rahman Singh?" asked Cardona. "He's in again! I talked to a lot of his old customers and told them to keep me posted. Well, he's been calling them up, only they don't know from where."

"We are positive," declared Weston, "that Rahman Singh did not murder Adam Rendrew. Therefore, he is unimportant."

"He may be more important than we think," persisted Cardona. "That Hindu might have an idea where Kelden is hiding out. He won't get it from that crystal of his, but he may remember a lot of things, if we question him right.

I'd like to find him."

As Cardona hoped, Weston became enthusiastic over the possibility that the Hindu might be a lead to Dwight. He nodded approvingly, then questioned: "Has the Dreller girl heard from Rahman Singh?"

"Not yet," replied Cardona. "But I bet she will, before very long. I've been telling his other customers to say that we aren't going to bother him.

He's called some of them a second time, so he certainly has my message."

"He's been using them as feelers" - Cardona, was emphatic - "and when he thinks he's safe, he'll call the Dreller dame. Maybe he just wants to start his fortune-telling racket again, but there's a chance that he's got something up the sleeve of his turban."

"His turban," corrected Weston, "is the object that he wears upon his head. You mean the sleeve of his tunic, inspector."

Cardona gave a sheepish grin. He knew what a turban was, all right, but Weston always liked a chance to correct somebody, so Cardona had given him one.

Such digressions carried the conversation further from the subject that Cardona was trying to avoid: the futile hunt for Dwight Kelden.

After lunch, while Cardona and Weston were still talking, The Shadow excused himself and telephoned the Rendrew house. Froy answered; using Cranston's tone, The Shadow asked for Louise Dreller.

He introduced himself across the wire, and Louise gushed enthusiastically when she learned that she was talking to the millionaire globe-trotter, Lamont Cranston, who had been to India, Tibet, and all other hotbeds of Oriental mysticism.

"I have received an astral call," came Cranston's serious tone, "from the presiding yogi in the Temple of Allahabad. His message is for Rahman Singh."

"I understand!" exclaimed Louise. "But I don't know where Rahman Singh is."

"Your mind and his are in harmony. You will hear from him. When you do -"

"Yes? Yes?"

"Inform Rahman Singh that he must communicate with me at once, or the yogi's message will never reach him!" LOUISE stayed in the house the rest of the afternoon, hoping to hear from Rahman Singh. At half past five, just as Archie came in the front door, the telephone bell rang. Louise pounced for it; stopping on the stairs, Archie heard her exclaim: "Rahman Singh! It's you, at last!" Archie listened closely to Louise's end of the conversation. While she was hanging up the receiver, he hurried out the front door. He called Silk Elredge from the nearest pay station, but required several attempts, at brief intervals, before Silk finally answered.

"The Hindu called Louise," said Archie. "She gave him some dizzy message... Who from? From Lamont Cranston... You've heard of him, haven't you?"

Smoothly, Silk asked for details. Archie gave them.

"It sounds goofy," he admitted, "but it's the sort of bunk that Louise falls for... Maybe you're right; it might be Cranston's way of getting hold of Rahman Singh... Sure, Silk! I'll keep you posted, if Louise gets any other calls..."

In his office, Silk Elredge sat drumming the desk, his eyes registering a shrewd flicker, his straight lip set tight. Suddenly he nodded to himself, arose and strode over to the door. As he pulled the barrier inward, Silk stepped back.

The pa.s.sage was blocked by a stranger who was stepping toward the door, his hand lifted, as if to rap against it. Before Silk could halt him, the man strode across the threshold and closed the door behind him. Silk heard an oily greeting, given with a peculiar accent: "You are Mr. Elredge?"

Silk nodded. His narrowed eyes were staring at a darkish bearded face, that he could identify with one man only: Rahman Singh. He thought at that moment that the Hindu must have been outside the Rendrew house when Archie left it; then Silk realized that Rahman Singh could not have picked up the trail that soon.

By his own testimony, Archie had left while Louise was still talking to the Hindu. There had been an interval after that, but even if Rahman Singh had come along and spotted Archie calling from the drugstore, that wouldn't explain the Hindu's presence here. Silk had been talking to Archie only five minutes ago!

Silk was deciding that the stranger couldn't be the Hindu mentioned by Archie, when the bearded man announced: "My name is Rahman Singh."

For a moment, Silk Dredge was inclined to credit the wonder of the Orient whereby mystics could transport themselves from one location to another; but that mood did not grip him very long. Silk figured that there would be a more sensible explanation, and he knew the way to get it.

Gesturing Rahman Singh to a chair, Silk sat down behind his desk and reached for the telephone, while he purred: "I was just about to make an important call. You'll pardon me, Mr. Singh -".

"One moment!"

The harshness of the Hindu's interruption caused the telephone to drop from Silk's hand. Looking across the desk, the proprietor of the Club Cadiz promptly wheeled his chair back and let his hands come to shoulder level.

Rahman Singh, the trickster, wasn't the sort who could be tricked. From beneath his overcoat he had produced an oversized revolver, that shone like the gold teeth which the Hindu's leering lips displayed. "I would prefer it, Mr. Elredge," chuckled Rahman Singh, "if we settled our business before you made the call!"

CHAPTER XI.

CARDS ON THE TABLE.

RAHMAN SINGH had looked into the future without the aid of a crystal ball.

He had guessed why Silk Elredge was reaching for the telephone: to slip a signal to certain mobbies who served him. Silk made those calls craftily, when he wanted to be rid of troublesome visitors.

It seemed that Rahman Singh had either learned, or guessed, a great deal about Silk's methods. With his gun drawn, the Hindu seemed quite confident. In fact, he stretched his dark hand to the corner of the desk and laid the weapon there.

Silk's arms came down, then folded across his chest. The revolver was just close enough for Rahman Singh's use, should the visitor need it; just too far away, in case Silk made a grab for it. Letting his smile fade, Rahman Singh remarked soberly: "The gun is on the table. Why not lay our cards there, too?"

"It suits me," decided Silk. "Let's have your showdown first. What's your right name, Hindu?"

"Rahman Singh," replied the bearded man, coolly. "I am not the only bona fide Hindu in New York. As for these" - he gave a sweeping tug at his black whiskers - "look!"

The beard struck Silk as genuine, after that demonstration. As for his visitor's nationality, Silk was remembering that New York had plenty of Chinese and others of Oriental origin, who talked plain English and behaved according to American custom.

It wasn't odd that Rahman Singh should wear a turban and pose as a mystic, since many Orientals who ran curio shops garbed themselves in robes of their native land.

At present, Rahman Singh wasn't decked up for his act. He was wearing a well-cut business suit, topped by a stylish overcoat, and his headgear was a dark felt hat.

"Suppose that we discuss our affairs," suggested Rahman Singh, "only so far as the law is apt to interfere with them."

"That's Jake," agreed Silk. "You're on the lam, and I'm not. So let's hear your troubles."

"They are already known. Yours may be yet to come."

"Yeah? What's the gag?"

Rahman Singh stroked his beard; finally he gave a slow-worded reply to Silk's question.

"According to a young lady named Louise Dreller," he announced, "her brother Archie has lost heavily in your gambling establishment. So heavily that he was forced to make very special arrangements in order to square himself."

"What sort of arrangements."

"Miss Dreller did not know. But I suspect" - long brown fingers were plucking the black beard - "that they involved blackmail, with Adam Rendrew as the man who was supposed to pay."

Silk shifted forward. Rahman Singh clutched the gun. With a shrug, Silksettled back and demanded: "How would anyone have shaken down old Rendrew?"

"Very simply," returned Rahman Singh, in a cold, steady tone - "by threatening to impart certain information to his nephew, Dwight Kelden; facts regarding a swindle that Rendrew once managed."

THE statement had a powerful effect upon Silk. So far, the inside information had not reached the newspapers. It was obvious, therefore, that Rahman Singh had gleaned facts from Louise; and that led to other conclusions.

"Forget that heater," suggested Silk, referring to the gun. "I might as well come out with it. That b.o.o.b Dreller talked too much to his dizzy sister.

I'm lucky that they've both kept their faces b.u.t.toned while the cops are around.

"Anyway, Rendrew got croaked before the deal ever went through, so they can't hand me a rap on that. They've pinned the murder on Kelden, which makes me safe there, too. You've got it right, Singh. Archie owes me dough."

The Hindu did not inquire as to the amount, so Silk decided to state it.

"Close to three grand," said Silk. "I thought old Rendrew would be good for it, until Archie swore he'd never come through. To square himself with me, Archie gave me the lowdown on the Kelden matter. He said the old man would turn baby, if anybody threatened to give that out.

"I told Archie to take a cruise so that while he was away, I could walk in on the old gent. I told Archie I'd make his uncle settle for ten grand, and go fifty-fifty on the deal. But I was going after twenty. It looked worth it."

Silk paused, gave a snap of his fingers to indicate the sudden vanish of fifteen thousand dollars.

"Kelden rubbed out Rendrew," he said, "and that was that. But why should I.