Ba.s.slett, gasping, slid sidewise from his chair. Clutching the side of a wide, curtained doorway, the secretary delivered a hunted look as his eyes met those of his new master. "You are a traitor, Ba.s.slett!" denounced Ralgood, in a tone of fierce accusation. "I know now, why you seemed truthful sometimes; evasive at others. You have yielded information. Like myself, you have guessed that millions were at stake. Speak, you scoundrel! Tell the true facts of your treachery!"

Ba.s.slett was cringing, his hands half hidden by his coat. His face showed white in the bright light of the single table lamp that illuminated the room. His features were accentuated by the darkness of the curtains just behind him.

Ralgood strode forward.

Ba.s.slett whimpered; then suddenly uttered a harsh cry. From his coat pocket, the secretary whipped a small revolver. Ralgood stopped short, staring at the weapon.

"Give - give me the ribbon," stammered Ba.s.slett. "At - at once. Place it here - in my hand."

His free hand trembled as he extended it. Mechanically, Ralgood reached forward and let the ribbon drop into the secretary's palm. A nervous chuckle sounded from Ba.s.slett's lips as the traitor fumblingly opened the ribbon with his fingers.

He had wanted to see what word the ribbon bore; now his eyes were viewing it. Yet Ba.s.slett stared in perplexity.

Upon the ribbon were only two letters, stamped in faded gold: ES.

Ba.s.slett's gun hand was shaking as it lowered. Ralgood saw the weapon sink. The gray-haired man stiffened; then sprang forward upon the secretary. A startled gasp was all that Ba.s.slett could utter. The ribbon fluttered from his fingers and lay conspicuously blue upon the light-colored surface of an Oriental rug.

Ralgood had disarmed the secretary. Gripping the fellow's arms, he drove Ba.s.slett back against the wall.

Ba.s.slett tried vainly to clutch his master's throat. Failing, he sought to twist away.

He floundered against the side of the table that bore the lamp. There Ba.s.slett slipped and Ralgood pounced upon him with a sharp exclamation of triumph. Then came a stroke that stopped the follow-up of victory.

Three m.u.f.fled shots boomed from a dark drapery. Bursts of flame from between the curtain and the side of the doorway, just behind Ralgood's back. Ralgood's cry of victory ended in a gasp as the gray-haired man jolted upward, like the victim of an electric shock.

Ba.s.slett, staring from against the wall, saw Ralgood's face a.s.sume a pained-contorted expression. The secretary watched his master slump to the floor and roll face forward. Luther Ralgood was dying; a murderer had shot him in the back. Three bullets in quick succession, all from close range.

A HORRIFIED stare appeared upon Ba.s.slett's face. The traitor secretary looked beyond Ralgood's body to view a smoking gun muzzle that still projected from the curtain.

"You - you've killed him!" blurted Ba.s.slett, his eyes bulging toward the curtains. "I - I - you told me that murder would not be needed. You told me that - when I last heard from you! You - you promised - promised that you would not kill!"

The curtain swung forward. The man beyond was entering. A harsh chuckle sounded as an arm andshoulder moved into view. Ba.s.slett caught one glimpse of a face just past the drapery. Wildly, the secretary sprang past Ralgood's body and stooped to grasp the ribbon that lay upon the floor.

"This is mine!" he cried. "This ribbon is mine, as much as yours. Murder was not in our bargain. You have killed despite your promise!"

As he spoke, the secretary made a frantic grab past the ribbon. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his own revolver from the floor. Remorse over the murder of Luther Ralgood had changed Ba.s.slett's feeling. He wanted to settle scores with this killer to whom he had betrayed his master.

The curtain swung back as Ba.s.slett came up with the gun. A gloating cry escaped the secretary's lips.

Maddened, Ba.s.slett thought that Ralgood's slayer was about to flee. In that guess he was wrong. As Ba.s.slett sought to point his reclaimed gun, the killer's revolver spurted new jets of flame. Thrice it boomed its m.u.f.fled shots. The slugs ripped Ba.s.slett's unprotected chest.

Staggering, the secretary wavered sidewise, his pale features showing the same sickened expression that Ralgood's had displayed. Toward the curtains, then to the wall - there Ba.s.slett slumped. His body tumbled sidewise against the table; his arms flung wide as he twisted and pitched forward.

The table overturned as Ba.s.slett struck it. The lamp jounced toward the floor; its shade struck a chair arm and bounced away; the lamp itself landed upside down. The single bulb broke with a clatter; the room of death was plunged into darkness.

Murder had followed murder. Luther Ralgood had been slain in cold blood; Ba.s.slett, in turn, had been shot down by the killer who had bribed him to deeds of treachery. Death had struck twice in this secluded house. Crime had succeeded while The Shadow was already on his way.

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW'S FIND.

EVIL was the gloating chuckle that came from the curtains of Luther Ralgood's living room. The extinguishing of the solitary lamp seemed to the murderer's liking. A flashlight blinked from the curtains; its intermittent flashes were proof that the slayer preferred to work in darkness.

A few quick blinks sufficed to show that Ralgood and Ba.s.slett were both dead. Small wonder, for the killer had used three bullets on each, at a range so close that one slug would have been sufficient in either case.

Satisfied on that point, the killer turned the flashlight on the ribbon that lay against the rug. His chuckle sounded as he saw the letters ES. His free hand plucked the ribbon from the light.

Darkness followed; then the flashlight shone on an old-fashioned desk in the corner. Here the murderer began to look through pigeonholes; his search was rapid until he reached a drawer beneath the desk.

There the flashlight showed an old-fashioned revolver; one that belonged to Luther Ralgood.

With one hand, the murderer cracked open the weapon. The gun was fully loaded; of obsolete pattern, it had five chambers and even the cartridges were of an antiquated sort.

Apparently, Luther Ralgood had kept this revolver for years, merely as an item of protection in case of burglary. Beside the revolver was a time-stained cardboard box that bore the imprint of a small-arms manufacturer, the maker of the cartridges that the revolver contained.

The killer shook the box, then opened it to see two dozen extra cartridges within. He closed the box and replaced it in the drawer; but he kept Ralgood's loaded revolver. Eliminating the flashlight, the slayer picked his course across the room. He was making for the rear of the house. He came finally to a back door. Opening it, the murderer departed, closing the door behind him.

The street in back of Ralgood's was a place of total darkness. It was scarcely more than an alleyway that came to a dead end against the high brick wall of a playground that fronted on the river.

There were no lights in this cul-de-sac, for the building on the opposite side was an abandoned brewery.

With Talleyrand Court practically untenanted, street lamps had not yet been installed in the blind alley.

HALF a dozen minutes pa.s.sed. At last came an almost inaudible noise within the very depths of the little alleyway. Something had swished in darkness.

The Shadow had arrived at number twenty-eight. His first inspection had been made at the front of Talleyrand Court. Because of the light over Luther Ralgood's front door, The Shadow had circled to the rear.

Not even a glistening rear window served as indicator. The Shadow had picked his location by a process of measurement.

Feeling through the darkness, he arrived at steps and gained the door above them. He tried the k.n.o.b; the door opened. The Shadow stepped into the darkness of Luther Ralgood's residence.

The Shadow crept forward to the front of the house. Hearing no sign of activity, he blinked his tiny flashlight as he began a rearward course. This time he detoured from the hall and entered the first room that he encountered. His light glimmered upon the p.r.o.ne form of Luther Ralgood.

A solemn laugh came from hidden lips. It bore no tone of mirth. It was The Shadow's voiced recognition of the fact that he had arrived too late to stop crime. His flashlight showed Ba.s.slett's body by the overturned table. Stooping by the corpses of the murdered men, The Shadow began his reconstruction of the scene.

IT was evident to The Shadow that the slaughter had commenced with a surprise attack. Luther Ralgood, shot in the back, sprawled face foremost away from the telltale curtain to the other room. That was sufficient to tell The Shadow that the elderly man had been struck down from ambush.

Ba.s.slett, it followed, had taken up Ralgood's cause. To first appearance, it seemed that the secretary had played a simple part of loyalty. But The Shadow's a.n.a.lysis carried to greater depths. His study of Ba.s.slett's body caused him to go back to Ralgood's. Carefully raising the gray-haired man's body, The Shadow used one hand to play the flashlight on Ralgood's vest.

There had been a struggle in which both had engaged. Luther Ralgood's vest had been torn half open; Ba.s.slett's rumpled coat, torn shirt and collar made it plain that the secretary had battled hand-to-hand with some adversary.

Moreover, the revolver, still held loosely by Ba.s.slett's dead fingers, was evidence that the secretary had been armed at the outset.

Simple elimination told The Shadow that the two could not have struggled in common cause. It was difficult to picture a fight with an ambushed enemy which had resulted in one man being shot in the back while the other found no opportunity to even fire his revolver.

The Shadow laughed grimly; he had discerned the truth. The first combat had been between Ralgood and Ba.s.slett. The unlocked back door was proof that the secretary had treacherously allowed the slayer to enter. Seeking further evidence to support his theory, The Shadow gleamed his flashlight about the room. He noted the desk; the drawer was slightly opened. The Shadow went to it, opened the drawer and discovered the box of cartridges.

Close examination showed a s.p.a.ce of whiteness upon the side of the box, below the grimy lid. The box had not been clamped shut. Someone had opened it, studied the contents and closed the box again.

The cartridges interested The Shadow. After closing the box and shutting the drawer, he returned to examine Ba.s.slett's revolver. The cartridges in that weapon did not match those in the desk. They were of modern manufacture and of different caliber than those that The Shadow had seen in the box.

A revolver had been taken from the desk. Ralgood's revolver; and it had gone with the murderer. Had Ralgood used the weapon at all tonight?

The Shadow's laugh had an oddly negative tone. If both Ralgood and Ba.s.slett had been armed; they would have fought it out with guns. It was the murderer who had found Ralgood's revolver in the desk and taken it.

The Shadow's flashlight glimmered on the floor. The cloaked investigator was searching for some bit of forgotten evidence; any shred that might add a further clue. For The Shadow knew that murder had not been the primary objective.

Luther Ralgood could have been disposed of in a more quiet fashion by a killer who had a traitor set to aid him. The slayer had come here to gain some object of value; something more important than Ralgood's revolver.

IN his present quest, The Shadow encountered barren results. The murderer had not only removed the piece of blue silk ribbon; he had also been wise enough to take along the letter which Milton Callard had sent to Ralgood, some months ago.

That letter had been dropped by Ba.s.slett; it had lain on the floor, as conspicuous to the murderer as the ribbon. Both articles were gone.

Failing in this search, The Shadow went to the desk. With gloved hands, he removed papers from pigeonholes. He saw at once that the killer had made a similar search, for the various doc.u.ments were in disarray. Unfortunately, however, there were no signs of fingerprints.

In a group of letters, The Shadow uncovered an envelope that bore a Chinese stamp and postmark. He withdrew the letter from the envelope and read it by the light of his little torch.

The letter was from Dave Callard; it told Luther Ralgood that the young man would arrive aboard the Steamship Tamalpais and would visit him soon after disembarking in New York. This was the letter that Ralgood had mentioned to Ba.s.slett.

Here was the link with facts that The Shadow already knew. Dave Callard had started for Talleyrand Place but had changed destination when he had spied Moe Shrevnitz's cab upon his trail. Dave had held a brief interview with Leng Doy; The Shadow's intrusion had terminated that conference.

But Dave had gained an advantage over The Shadow. The fight in the pa.s.sage at the Wuhu Cafe; the delay that The Shadow had experienced in making his escape through the secret panel - these had allowed Callard a quarter hour leeway. Time enough to have come here, murdered two men, gathered trophies and departed.

Haste alone could account for Callard pa.s.sing by this letter in his rapid search of Ralgood's desk. In hisgloved hand, The Shadow held the all-important clues that would govern the law's search for a missing murderer.

The question that concerned The Shadow at this moment was one of choice. Should he continue the search alone? Or should he, in a sense, invite the law to partic.i.p.ate in the same quest?

The Shadow's decision was an action. Carefully, he replaced the letter from China with the others in the desk. Extinguishing his flashlight, he moved through darkened rooms and departed by the back door, leaving it unlocked behind him.

A FINAL laugh crept softly through the darkness of the alleyway as The Shadow glided away from the neighborhood of Talleyrand Court. Though a murderer had eluded his grasp, The Shadow was confident that he could trace the criminal's course. The Shadow's ways and means were many.

Even though he had been unable to learn the nature of the spoils that had been taken from Ralgood's; though he had no actual proof that any object had been removed, The Shadow had learned enough to know that he was dealing with a man who would stop at no crime. The Shadow's task was to trail a supercrook whose schemes held depth.

CHAPTER V. IN THE MORNING.

AT nine o'clock the next morning, a brisk, square-built man walked into the office of the Indo-China Shipping Bureau. Black-haired and dark-eyed man, his features showed a determined, outthrust jaw that marked him as a keen man of business.

"Gentleman to see you, Mr. Mallikan," observed the girl at the switchboard, turning about in her chair.

"Came in about ten minutes ago."

"Where is he?" demanded the black-haired man, glancing quizzically at the empty waiting benches.

"I sent him into your office," replied the girl. "He said that he was a friend of yours from China."

"What was his name?"

"He wouldn't say."

Mallikan snapped a sharp retort. Then, curbing his angriness, Mallikan turned on his heel and strode across to his private office.

The Indo-China Shipping Bureau was located high in a downtown skysc.r.a.per. When Mallikan entered his office, he saw a young man standing by the window, gazing off beyond the Battery, where an incoming liner looked like a tiny toy between microscopic tugboats. Mallikan closed the door with a thump; the man at the window turned about with a nervous start, then grinned.

"Dave Callard!" exclaimed Mallikan. "Well, well. So you're back from China earlier than you expected."

"I am," returned Callard, advancing to shake hands. "What's more, I'm glad to be here. Those months in the cooler weren't any too pleasant."

"The consulate fixed it for you?"

"Not so much. My Chinese friends in Canton were the ones who really pulled the trick."

"Sit down. Give me the details." MALLIKAN took a chair behind a large mahogany desk; he proffered a box of expensive cigars.

Callard accepted one of the smokes and seated himself opposite the black-haired shipping man.

"It was a real mess," explained Callard. "Started in Canton when I made a deal with some Chinese merchants to convoy some of their boats up the Chu-kiang."

"You mean the Canton River?"

"Yes - or the Pearl River, as some call it. Well, the American consul found out what I was doing and advised me to lay off. I went ahead. Smeared a bunch of pirate sampans and thought I'd done a swell job until I landed back in Canton."

"Yes. I knew your trouble started there."

"The pirates had friends among some of the local officials. They grabbed me and shoved me in the yamen. Mean places, those Chinese jails."

"What did the consul do about it?"

"He wanted to try me in the international court. If they'd found me guilty, I'd have been shipped to Manila. I wanted to stay in Canton, on account of my Chinese friends. Well, there were all sorts of complications; but it finally worked out the way I wanted it. Technically, I was sentenced to serve a year in the Chinese prison; but I was transferred to the custody of the international settlement."

Callard paused to puff at his cigar. His lips hardened into a shrewd smile as he recalled his experiences.

"I was counting on some of those smart officials getting the bounce," he resumed. "They were pals of the pirates, taking a cut on every robbery, even though they pretended to be on the level. It worked out like I expected. At the end of six months my friends were back in power. They sent a polite delegation to the American consulate and I was released."

Mallikan began to drum his desk. He was gazing from the window, pondering upon the facts that Callard had just related. At last he nodded brusquely.

"I thought it was something like that, Dave," he declared. "You were pretty well filled with desire for adventure when I arranged your first shipping berth a few years ago. But I never expected you to get into a sc.r.a.pe as bad as this one."

"It did look bad when I wrote you about it," replied Callard with a short laugh. "You'd have thought I was a pirate on my own, the way they grabbed me, there in Canton."