The Shadow's exit was blocked!

There was no telling how long the cop intended to stand where he was. The Shadow didn't wait to find out. He retreated noiselessly through the coal entrance to the cellar.

A swift scrutiny in the dimness of the cellar showed The Shadow two things that made his eyes gleam.

One was a hot-air furnace, with a maze of pipes and air ducts to carry heat through the house. The other was a heap of old newspapers.

The Shadow stuffed a bundle of papers into an air duct. Shielding a match, he ignited the paper. He could smell the acrid odor of smoke from the plug of paper in the pipe. He knew the smoke would ascend through the furnace ducts and pour out of the hot-air registers in the floors above. A moment later, he heard the faint yell of a cop upstairs. The yell was echoed by other yells. Those cops on duty were jumpy. Strange things had happened in this house. Now smoke was pouring up the furnace pipes!

Police came racing down to the cellar. The Shadow ducked back to the pit below the rear courtyard.

The grating above it was no longer blocked by the feet of the cop who had halted to sneak a smoke.

Alarmed by the yells of his comrades within the house, he had raced inside.

Quickly, The Shadow darted across the dark courtyard and swung over a fence. He moved without sound. Long before the police emerged from the cellar to search the courtyard, he had melted quietly through the darkness of a rear street.

He returned swiftly to the tobacco shop of Jonas Lee. The rear of the shop seemed as dark and quiet as before. But The Shadow had a queer feeling that he was under observation.

He stood perfectly still, watching. He could see nothing alarming. He couldn't hear the slightest sound. He decided that perhaps tense nerves had fooled him.

A moment later, The Shadow vanished through an alley that would take him to the front of the tobacco shop.

It was necessary to reappear briefly in the role of Lamont Cranston. Jonas Lee might think it strange if Cranston failed to return to pick up the tobacco he had ordered. The Shadow preferred Jonas Lee not to wonder about anything connected with Lamont Cranston.

IT would have been a lot better if The Shadow had been in less of a hurry tonight. His instinctive feeling of danger had not been wrong!

Grim eyes had watched the return of The Shadow to the tobacco shop. Hidden by darkness, a tall figure watched him fade through the alley. There was a curious hump between the shoulder blades of this sinister observer.

He didn't move from the spot where he lurked. But a peculiar change seemed to come over him. His eyes glowed with a baleful light. He smiled wolfishly. The lips drew away from his teeth. His teeth, too, were strangely aglow!

He moved backward into the darkness where he lurked, as if aware of this ugly phosph.o.r.escence.

The strange glow faded from his eyes. The time was not yet ripe for murder. But the tall man with the hunched back was willing to wait.

Mentally, he had already marked Jonas Lee and The Shadow for a horrible death!

CHAPTER III. h.e.l.l'S HENCHMEN.

MARGO LANE felt a pleasurable thrill when she paid off her taxi driver.

This wasn't the first time Margo had co-operated with The Shadow. She knew that she ran risks. But The Shadow could be counted on to surround Margo with protection in the event of trouble.

Margo half expected trouble tonight. She had done a good job of making the sleek Ron Dexter fall in love with her. But of late, there had been signs that he mistrusted her. Dexter was the last person in the world to suspect of crime. He had excellent social connections. He was seen with only the best people. He had large accounts in some of the biggest banks in Manhattan.

Nevertheless, the secret information of The Shadow showed that this handsome playboy was bleeding many socially prominent women who had fallen for the lure of his attractive personality.

The street entrance to Dexter's expensive penthouse showed that he preferred to have his visitors arrive with a minimum of publicity. It was around the corner from the main entrance to the apartment building. It was guarded by only a plain door without any name. There was no need for a visitor to worry about inquisitive doormen or attendants on the way up to the blackmailer's penthouse.

Margo rang the bell, used a prearranged signal Dexter had given her. He had explained it as a precaution to keep away pests whom he didn't want to see.

The door opened at Margo's signal. It closed automatically. But before it clicked shut Margo made a short horizontal mark on the outside with her lipstick.

The mark was a message to The Shadow. It indicated that Margo had entered the building. If all went well and Margo succeeded in luring away the suspected blackmailer, she would add a second mark to the first. The second mark would tell The Shadow that the coast was clear for a search.

Margo rode up alone in a self-service elevator. It communicated directly with the penthouse corridor.

There was a short delay after Margo lifted the ornamental knocker on Dexter's door. She used the delay to make sure she looked her best. She smiled invitingly as the door opened.

But an instant later, the smile vanished from her lips. A look of terror made her eyes bulge. She tried to cry out.

The man who had opened the door was not Ron Dexter. He was a vicious-looking thug with a sallow, pock-marked face. Before Margo could scream with fright, one hand choked off her cry. The other caught her by the throat and dragged her into the apartment.

The door slammed behind her. Dazedly, she tried to fight her way back to the closed door. It was useless. The pock-marked thug twisted her arms behind her back with a cruel violence that bent her double and filled her eyes with tears of agony.

"Who did you grab, Nick?"

The voice was a harsh snarl. It came from an inner room of the penthouse suite.

"Nothin' to get excited about," Nick chuckled. "A dame. One of Dexter's wealthy suckers. I'll bring her in and let you look her over."

Margo was shoved brutally into an inner room. The thug named Nick seemed to enjoy hurting her. He kept twisting her arm behind her until she moaned.

"Easy!" the second thug grunted.

"We don't want her to pa.s.s out. We want to ask her a few questions about this lad Dexter."

"O.K., Turk."

Nick abandoned his torture grip with reluctance. Turk was bigger and beefier than Nick. He came close to Margo to look at her. There was a reek of whiskey on his breath. His horrible smile added to the terror in Margo's heart. She swayed backward.

Turk touched her sleeve with a rea.s.suring gesture.

His hand left a smear of red on her gown. It was a sticky stain of fresh blood!

Margo screamed.

"Let her yell," Turk mumbled. "This joint is soundproof. It won't hurt her to know what she's up against.

Kick that chair aside, Nick!"

Nick shoved the chair away. A man's crumpled body was revealed, lying in a dead huddle on the floor.

A knife had been driven into his body up to the hilt.

The dead man was Ron Dexter!

"That's what happens to dopes who try to get smart," Turk mumbled. "Go ahead, Nick. Find out who this dame is."

"WHAT'S your name?"

Margo did some quick thinking. If she told her real name she might implicate Lamont Cranston. That came perilously close to involving The Shadow. Margo used the first name that came into her terrified mind.

"Rhoda Carlson," she whispered.

"O.K., Rhoda. What were you coming to see Dexter about?'

Again Margo thought fast. These two thugs didn't know a thing about her. They seemed to be well aware that the dead Ron Dexter had earned his living by blackmail. Perhaps the safest way to cover Margo's real ident.i.ty might be to pretend to be what Nick had already called her-- one of Dexter's "wealthy suckers."

"I came here to beg Dexter not to force me to pay him any more money," she breathed. "I've given him all the cash I had. I came to tell him that I didn't dare ask my husband for more"

"See if she's lying, Nick," Turk said. "Take a gander at the book we got out of Dexter's safe."

Margo's heart contracted when she saw the small leather book Nick picked up from a nearby table. She guessed what it was. It contained the names of Dexter's victims. In pretending that Dexter had blackmailed her, Margo had made a bad error of judgment.

Nick's lips twisted into an unpleasant leer after he had consulted the stolen book.

Rhoda Carson, eh? A swell name, lady, but not good enough to get by with. Cut out the lyin'! Tell us your real name!"

Trapped in her falsehood, Margo didn't quite know how to answer. She kept quiet.

Again it was the wrong tactic. She felt the tight grip of Nick, twisting her arm. Nick paid no more attention to her than if she were a wooden dummy. He was staring at his thuggish partner with a look that was cold as ice.

"You know what I think? I think this dame is a d.i.c.k!" Turk's ugly mouth hung open for an instant. Then it closed like a steel trap.

"Maybe. How will we handle her?"

"Heat up that poker," Nick said. He nodded grimly toward the fireplace, where a comfortable wood fire was burning.

Margo tried to struggle, but it was useless. Nick had fingers like steel hooks. When he eased up on his pressure, Margo was barely able to see.

Turk was advancing toward her from the fireplace like a wavering phantom. In his hand he held a poker.

He had draped a towel around the handle. The end of the poker glowed cherry-red.

He held it close to Margo's face. The heat of the glowing metal was intolerable.

"We don't like the name Rhoda Carlson," Nick said. "We think some other name might be nicer. Go ahead and tell us. And don't try any more lying!"

Margo's dry lips moved. No sound came.

"Try it on her back first," Nick snarled.

'No, no!" Margo begged.

Turk paid no attention. The l.u.s.t for torture showed in his bulging eyes. With a quick gesture, he caught at the shoulder of Margo's gown.

The frail material ripped. Margo's shoulder and part of her ivory-white back were exposed. Turk made a slow forward gesture with the red-hot poker, to brand Margo's flesh.

But Nick suddenly restrained him with an oath.

It wasn't pity that halted Nick. It was the sight of a gold locket that the ripped dress had revealed.

The locket hung on a thin-linked chain from Margo's neck. It was something she had forgotten. She felt Nick rip it loose from the chain. He stared at the two initials engraved on the gold surface.

The initials were "M. L."

"Now we're getting some place!" Nick grinned. "We'll give you one last chance. What's 'M. L.' stand for?"

Terror gripped Margo. If these killers discovered that she was Margo Lane, it would mean disaster for Lamont Cranston! She and Cranston were almost inseparable companions in the social life of Manhattan.

No one could fail to link the two names together, if she gave way to terror and told the truth.

"I'll talk! I lied because I was afraid! My real name is the same as those initials on my locket. It is...

Marjorie Logan."

The killers of Ron Dexter stared at her suspiciously. She tried to gain time.

"Why are you so anxious to know who I am?"

"The Light likes to know everything," Turk growled.

"The... Light?" "Shut up, sap!" Nick spat at Turk. "Do you want to get us both b.u.mped for talkin' out of turn?"

The Light! What did it mean? In spite of her terror, Margo was conscious that a vitally important fact had been revealed by the brutish Turk. The look in his eyes revealed that a forbidden word had been uttered.

MARGO had no time to think further. Nick had picked up her handbag from the floor. He opened it and leafed through its contents. He took out a small card in an isingla.s.s container. Margo knew what the card was the moment she saw it. She knew, too, that her second lie had been uttered in vain.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" Turk growled.

"A shopping card," Nick rejoined. "We'll soon find out if this dame is Marjorie Logan."

"How?"

"By calling up the Shopping Service," Nick said. "A lot of these wealthy dames carry cards like this with them. It saves time shopping around in stores. They just give the card number and pay all their bills once a month to the Shopping Service.

He picked up the telephone, called the address printed on the card.

Margo Lane's heart stood still. There was nothing left now but to pray for the arrival of The Shadow.

Surely he'd come before they found out who she really was! Surely something would happen to prevent-- But nothing did. Nick finished his conversation and cradled the phone.