Guns stabbed upward. The shots were hasty, but accurate, for the distance could be gauged. Bullets ripped the roof edge, yet The Shadow's laugh persisted. With it, he dispatched answering bullets that found human marks.

The edge of that roof was sheeted with galvanized iron, which was the reason why The Shadow had chosen it. The metal deflected the bullets that ripped through; other shots, that zimmed above the roof rim, were too high. No longer was The Shadow a standing figure outlined against the dingy wall of yellow brick.

He had dropped to the roof level as the barrage began. The muzzles of automatics were the only targets that he left in sight. They were thrust out just far enough to loose their belching flame straight for the blood-mad marksmen that he fought.

PERHAPS The Shadow could not have stood that conflict more than a few minutes, for the iron barricade was not stout enough to last through a prolonged hail of lead. But he was counting upon co-operation that his timely attack had rendered possible - and it came with swift response.

The Shadow had diverted the driving crooks by a thrust from one flank.

While he was taking over the brunt of battle, the police rallied and used The Shadow's system of a flank attack. Theirs came from the opposite direction. It was a charge, in solid force.

Pouring their bullets into the ma.s.sed foe, the officers matched The Shadow's action. Thugs, caught in a pincer trap, began to fling away their guns and throw up their hands. Those who managed that surrender were fortunate, for they stood knee-deep among the sagging figures of their pals.

One man alone refused to quit. Silk Elredge had turned, to dash in the opposite direction. He saw Joe Cardona swinging in to intercept him. Silk flunghis gun hand forward, hoping to settle the ace inspector. Cardona's revolver beat him to the shot; but a single bullet could not have produced the contortions that Silk underwent.

A shot from the roof had nicked Silk first, in the shoulder of his gun arm. Jolted sideward. Silk took Cardona's bullet and went upward. While in the midst of what seemed a twisting leap, he was flayed forward by a literal barrage from the guns of Cardona's men. The wallop of three bullets flattened Silk squarely on his face.

Waving for his men to hold their fire, Cardona reached the fallen mob leader. Though any one of Silk's wounds might have proven mortal, the would-be murderer was still alive. Cardona turned Silk's face upward, stared at eyes that blinked through blood that streamed from a battered forehead. Full-force contact with the paving had bashed Silk's features into an almost unrecognizable condition.

Coolly, Joe Cardona was playing a hunch. This fray, he was positive, meant a link with the Rendrew case. Voicing the first thought that came to mind, Cardona gruffed: "You croaked Rendrew and planted the job on Kelden. Better spill it, Silk.

You're done!"

Silk shook his head weakly.

"I didn't... didn't croak Rendrew. It was a shakedown I was after...

working with another guy."

"Who was he?"

"Archie... Archie Dreller."

"Then he killed Rendrew?"

"I... don't... know."

Silk coughed each word separately. The completed sentence was his last. A spasm racked him; when it ended, dead shoulders settled from Cardona's grasp.

Staring toward the low roof, Cardona saw the fading shape of The Shadow.

By the time the police inspector was beckoning to his men, there was no remaining sign of the black-cloaked figure. At that moment, however, Cardona was catching the gleam of a new light in his brain, exactly as The Shadow had designed.

With Rahman Singh out of the picture, and Silk Elredge definitely in it, Cardona had proof that the law had failed to delve into every angle of the Rendrew case. Since important facts had been missed entirely, it might be that the whole affair possessed a different twist.

Cardona was actually ready to concede that someone other than Dwight Kelden could have murdered Adam Rendrew. But he couldn't quite believe that anyone like Archie Dreller could be the party responsible. He decided that the real solution still depended upon finding Dwight Kelden.

It didn't occur to Joe Cardona that The Shadow was planning to reveal the true facts of murder without producing Dwight at all. With midnight only a few hours away, Cardona still clung to his hope of finding the missing man and making him talk.

Great though the odds were against that prospect, Joe Cardona was actually to find Dwight Kelden before midnight.

He was to find the trail he wanted without the aid or knowledge of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XV.

HELENE'S MEETING.

WHILE The Shadow had been arranging the finish of two careers - those of the nonexistent Rahman Singh and the actual Silk Elredge - matters had beenvery quiet in the old Rendrew mansion. Only two persons were in the house: Helene Graymond and Froy.

John Osman was off to another session with the lawyers handling the estate. Archie Dreller had gone to play poker with the same friends that he had so often invited to his den. Louise had made a later exit, fluffily dressed and in a great hurry, to join a crowd that was going to the theater.

In the house office, Helene was typing more of the unending lists, when she heard the ringing of the telephone bell. There was an extension in the office, but the switch was off, because Osman didn't want to be bothered with other calls when occupied with the details of the estate.

So Helene started out into the hallway, only to find that Froy had reached the telephone ahead of her.

"Yes..." Froy was speaking in his drab manner. "No, she is not here at present, sir... I can have her call you... Yes, she may return at any moment...

Very well, sir..."

Froy made a notation on a telephone pad. He was folding the paper, when he turned and saw Helene. Placing the slip in his vest pocket, the servant announced: "A call for Miss Dreller. I shall give her the message when she returns."

"But Miss Louise won't be back soon," said Helene. "She went to the theater this evening."

Froy blinked. For the first time, Helene saw him show an expression that resembled surprise. Then, mumbling to himself, the servant walked away. Helene returned to the office, convinced that something must be wrong with Froy.

Her mild alarm was increased, when the servant appeared in the office about ten minutes later. Froy was carrying a square tin box that had a folding handle. The box had no lock, but it bore two heavy side clamps. Planking the box on Helene's desk, Froy asked solemnly: "Miss Graymond, could I ask your help in a matter which is very important to me?"

"Certainly," replied Helene. "What is the trouble, Froy?"

The servant stroked his forehead.

"I have been ill," he declared, weakly. "Terribly upset, ever since Mr.

Rendrew died. You knew how faithful I was to him."

Helene nodded. Despite his faithfulness, Froy had not been remembered in Rendrew's will. The servant was staying on only because Osman was kind enough to keep him.

Osman had added that it would be a lifetime job for the old servant, and Froy had been ardent in his thanks. Still, Helene could understand why he should feel bitter toward the situation, enough so to cla.s.s his feelings as illness.

"It's my memory," confessed Froy. "It's left me. I forget things - such as Miss Dreller going to" - he blinked - "to where did you say she went?"

"To the theater."

Froy repeated the statement, in an effort to remember it. "But about this box, I'm afraid I'll mislay it somewhere, Miss -"

He paused apologetically, to indicate that he had actually forgotten Helene's name during the conversation. Helene reminded him who she was, asked him if he could remember what he wanted to tell her about the box. The question brought a coherent reply from Froy.

"It contains my savings," he declared, "from all the years that I have been here. I wish you would keep it in the safe for me."

"Certainly!" agreed Helene. Noting that Froy looked anxious because thebox was merely clamped, not locked, she added: "You may be quite sure that I shall not open it."

"You won't tell Mr. Osman, or the others, unless something should happen to me -"

"Of course not! Don't worry, Froy. I'll try to help you remember things, any time you want. Your memory will be all right again, very soon."

FROY departed in his soft-footed style. Helene let the box stay on her desk, because she intended to open the safe when she had typed the lists.

It was a large safe, in one corner of the office, and Helene had the combination to it. Its contents were mostly real-estate doc.u.ments, kept there so they would be preserved in case of fire. Nothing in the safe was of any great value, and there would surely be some s.p.a.ce where Froy's box could be tucked out of sight.

Again the telephone bell was ringing, and this time Helene answered it.

Froy had been gone about five minutes and she supposed that he had retired to his room.

Thoughts of Froy vanished completely when Helene heard the voice across the telephone. It wasn't a call from The Shadow, as she had expected. In a way, it was even more startling to Helene.

The man on the wire was Dwight Kelden!

"Helene!" Dwight's tone was breathless. "It's you, Helene; I know your voice!"

"Yes, Dwight!"

"I thought you'd be back by this time. I must see you, Helene, right away.

I'm outside the hotel -"

"What hotel?"

"The Espon, where I left word for you to call. Of course, I didn't give my name, not even the one I'm registered under. I only told Froy the room number and asked him to have you call there."

Poor Froy! Recollections of the servant again came to Helene. He had been so muddled that he had thought that last call was for Louise! With Froy in that state, it didn't matter that he had talked to Dwight; particularly since Dwight had been careful not to mention his own name, or his present alias.

Helene's voice was calm as she asked, "Where shall I meet you, Dwight?"

"There's a little restaurant one block east of the Espon. I'll be waiting outside it. We can go in there and have coffee while we talk."

"I'll start right away, Dwight."

Helene hurried up to her room. While she was getting her hat and coat, she heard another ringing sound, this time the front doorbell. It stopped abruptly, so she supposed that Froy had heard the summons and gone to answer it.

Remembering the package that The Shadow had sent her, Helene brought it from the place where she had hidden it. She wanted a safer spot for it and knew a very good one, where the package could remain during her absence.

There was a heavy chest set in a niche in the second-floor hall; filled with family relics, the thing was too heavy to move. The chest was locked, but there was a s.p.a.ce behind it, thanks to a slope in the wall.

Someone was calling her name from the floor below. Recognizing Osman's voice, Helene left her hat and coat on the chest and hurried downstairs. She met Osman at the door of the office.

"Where is Froy?" he questioned. "When I rang the doorbell, he did notanswer. I had to use my key."

"I think Froy went to his room," replied Helene. Then, anxious to take the servant's part, she added: "I told him I could answer the doorbell. I thought I.

could hear it in my room."

Osman's stubby face looked mollified. He glanced at his watch and shrugged.

"I have only lost five minutes here," he declared. "I suppose I can spare that much time. Provided" - he looked hopeful - "that you have finished typing the new lists. We need them."

"I have them, Mr. Osman."

The lists were on Helene's desk, along with Froy's metal box. Helene shifted herself between Osman and the desk, to cut off any chance view of the box. Gathering the lists, she turned about; half seated on the edge of the desk, she let one hand slide behind her to make sure that she had gauged the proper angle that would keep the box completely out of sight.

With her other hand, the girl extended the lists to Osman. Smiling, she announced: "Here they are."

Osman was more than pleased. He remarked that he and the lawyers had finished with all the work they had at hand, but were anxious to continue. The lists would keep them busy for a few hours longer. Thanking Helene profusely, he left the office and went out by the front door.

Immediately, the girl hurried to the second floor, put on her hat and coat and came down again. Hearing nothing from Froy, and realizing that Osman might have had trouble getting a cab outside, she decided to make an important phone call. The number that she dialed was the one that The Shadow's message had mentioned.

A MINUTE later, Helene was talking to Burbank. The contact man did not state his name, but the girl was impressed by the methodical tone in which he spoke. Instead of talking excitedly, Helene found herself equally calm.

The details that she gave were complete and accurate. Burbank checked them in prompt fashion: Dwight's first call, that Froy had answered; Froy's visit to the office, with the box; then the call from Dwight that Helene herself had received, with mention of the Espon Hotel.

Helene told where she had left The Shadow's package, and spoke of Osman's return to the house. She described how she had kept Froy's box from Osman's sight; whereupon Burbank asked if she had put the box in the safe. Helene said she hadn't, but would do so before starting out to meet Dwight.

She ended the conversation by promising to call Burbank again, as soon as she returned. After that, she went into the office, turned the combination of the safe and stowed the metal box deep beneath a stack of papers.

Closing the safe, Helene hurried out through the front door.

There was a taxi near the drugstore at the next corner, and Helene gave an address near the Espon Hotel. Her trip ended, she found the restaurant that Dwight had mentioned. While she was approaching the door, a man stepped up and joined her.

It was Dwight Kelden. He didn't give a word of greeting, nor did Helene.

They entered a booth and ordered coffee. As soon as it arrived, and they were really alone, Helene and Dwight locked hands across the table. Their eyes met in a long gaze, and both spoke in eager whispers.

"I knew you'd come!" exclaimed Dwight. "I tried to reach you the other night, Helene, when you were at the apartment, but too many things happened." "You mean the gun fight?"

Dwight nodded. Helene noted that his face looked very haggard. His eyes showed that he was tired, and his hair was uncombed. Perhaps he had purposely left it so, to offset the latest police description.

His puffs at his cigarette were nervous; to almost anyone but Helene, he would have fitted the brand that had been placed upon him: that of a hunted murderer. Helene, however, saw only the Dwight Kelden whom she had met a year ago, and he was still the man she loved.

Those marks of strain, in the girl's opinion, were the logical result of the unjust persecution that had forced Dwight into hiding. Yet, in fairness to both Dwight and herself, she felt that she must ask him about those very circ.u.mstances. Anything that she learned might be helpful to the one person who could aid an innocent man to shed crime's burden. That one person was The Shadow.

"You know I didn't kill my uncle," whispered Dwight. "You're probably the only person who believes the truth. That's why I had to talk to you."

"It might be better to talk to the police," returned Helene. "Perhaps they would believe you, too."