The Dead Who Lived

That savage blow was parried the instant it started. Plucking Quill's arm, The Shadow used his other hand to get a throttling grip on the racketeer's throat. He shoved Quill back into the room. Bulge-eyed, Quill could hear the hissing gas behind him.

Handling Quill like the rat he was, The Shadow gave him a terrific sideward shake. Half strangled, Quill sagged; his eyes were dazed. The Shadow gave him a spinning fling that landed Quill close beside the gas tank.

The heavy vapor was settling on that portion of the floor. Quill's flattened figure disappeared in the yellow haze. From the doorway, The Shadow watched, ignoring the moans of thugs who lay close by him.

There were other sounds, too, to which The Shadow paid no heed: the muffled shrills of police whistles; the rattles of a nightstick from the sidewalk in front of the house. All that concerned The Shadow was the subsiding of the gas. It required less than one more minute.

As Quill's figure came to sight, like a derelict motionless in settling fog, The Shadow strode over and hoisted the senseless racketeer across his shoulders. Lighter than Bosco, Quill made an easy burden.

Rapidly, The Shadow reached the hall.

ALTHOUGH the boarded front door was bursting under the attack of the police, the rear route still was clear. Descending the short stairway, The Shadow reached the back door, that he had left unbolted when he returned from carting Remingwood down. He was in the blackness of the alley, when he heard the faint crash that told the front door had gone.

The Shadow had added to the ranks of the Dead Who Lived; but the victims upon whom he had forced the sleep gas were the sort who deserved its clutch. When found by the police, their part in crime would be recognized, for the punctured gas tank stood as evidence.

No longer would mystery enshroud the Dead Who Lived. The condition attributed to a malady would be properly classed as a man-made state, produced through criminal deeds. But there was still a task that concerned The Shadow. It was the rescue of the other Dead Who Lived - innocent persons, among whose number were Harry Vincent and Arlene Delton.

To save them, The Shadow needed an interview with Professor Lawsham. His only course would be to outwit the schemer who held the precious antidote. After a return to life was assured the Dead Who Lived, The Shadow could take up the matter of Lawsham's crimes.

So far, only one murder could be checked against the crafty professor - the death of Doctor Broyce. But other murder was on its way, creeping in with slow-motion precision. Murder of the Dead Who Lived, unless Lawsham could be tricked into revealing the secret that could save them!

Soon, The Shadow was riding in the taxi that had stayed by to await him. Beside him lay Quill Baxton, breathing in the belabored fashion that maintained a ceaseless monotone.

That strange breathing was drowned by an even stranger tone, that issued from lips that looked like those of Pike Fengel. That tone, a whispered prophecy, was the laugh of The Shadow.

For The Shadow had found a way to enter Lawsham's close-guarded preserves. As Pike Fengel, he was bringing a human passport in the person of Quill Baxton, the most recent addition to the Dead Who Lived!

CHAPTER XIX. IN THE TEST ROOM

A TINY flashlight glowed upon a grimy hand; in the palm lay a paper, written in the scrawled penmanship of Quill Baxton. The tiny light went out. A figure moved along the sidewalk, to a gateway between two buildings.

That figure was carrying a burden. Lugging it through the gate, the carrier followed a darkened passage hemmed by old brick walls. He came to another gate, then a tiny courtyard where stunted trees grew from hardened ground.

There were steps that led downward to a rear door of a basement. That was the carrier's destination. He halted; found a bell-button and pushed it. Soon, he detected footsteps beyond the heavy door.

The grimy hand delivered a tattoo of knocks. A wicket opened in response to the signal. A blocky-jawed man spoke from within:

"Who is it?"

"Pike Fengel," was the word from outside. "Bringing Quill Baxton!"

A face thrust close to the wicket. The inside man saw the thuggish features that looked like Pike's. He didn't guess that behind that disguise lay the unknown face of The Shadow. The guard looked doubtful.

"Who did you say was with you?" he asked.

"Quill Baxton," whispered The Shadow, hoarsely. "Take a gander at his mush. You'll know him."

Hoisting the man that he had carried through the passage, The Shadow shoved a drooped face into the light. The guard recognized Quill; moreover, he knew what had happened to the racketeer. He opened the door.

Together, The Shadow and Lawsham's servant lugged Quill to another barrier. There, the servant told The Shadow to wait, while he reported. It wasn't long before more servants arrived. They carried Quill through; The Shadow picked up a small satchel and followed.

Professor Lawsham was in a little corner room fixed like an office. It was an untidy place; among its furnishings was a book-strewn couch. The books were removed and Quill was laid on the couch. Eyeing The Shadow over spectacle tops, Lawsham motioned him to a chair.

The professor didn't doubt that this visitor was one of Quill's outfit. But there were questions that he wanted to ask. He put the first one:

"Your name is Pike Fengel?"

"Sure!" The Shadow gave a grin. "That's me! Pal of Bosco Treff's. It was him got me into the racket."

"Ah, yes." Lawsham evidently recognized Bosco's name. "And how did you happen to come here?"

"So's to bring Quill." The Shadow pointed to the slow-breathing racketeer. "That's easy to answer."

"Yes, yes!" Lawsham's eyes were darty. "But why did you choose this place?"

"Because Quill gave me the dope on how to get here. He wrote it out for me."

The Shadow shoved Quill's direction paper into Lawsham's hand. The professor frowned.

"I know what you're thinking, prof," said The Shadow, in his rough tone. "Quill wasn't supposed to put nobody wise. Only, he did - and I was the guy. His idea was to double-cross you. Savvy?"

THE evidence bore that trend, and Lawsham was shrewd enough to see it. Clasping his hands together, he suggested that Pike tell his story. The Shadow gave it, suiting the details to his present purpose.

"Quill hands me this guy Remingwood," The Shadow related. "Tells me he's slated for the spot, but the idea is to stow him somewhere. Then Quill's coming here to collect five grand. I'm to show up later and tell how I croaked Remingwood.

"All the while, he's keeping the guy, to make sure you cough over the coin. And maybe - he makes me think it, anyway - maybe he's going to shake you down, later. So I takes Remingwood and croaks him!"

Lawsham's eyes showed sharp delight.

"You did that?" he exclaimed. "Even though Quill ordered otherwise?"

"Why not?" The Shadow puffed his lips into a grin. "Quill was staging a double cross. And the way I figure it, a guy's always O.K. if he fixes a double-crosser.

"When I get back with Quill, I fixed him! Took him like that" - The Shadow spread his hands to indicate a choking gesture - "so's he wouldn't make no squawk! Then I hands him the gas pipe!"

"Rather a drastic step," observed Lawsham.

"How come?" demanded The Shadow. "I had to lug him here, didn't I? Anyway, Quill says that you can snap guys out of that sleep, if you want to."

Reaching for the old satchel, The Shadow plunked it on Lawsham's desk.

"That's to hold the mazuma," he told the professor. "Only, five grand ain't enough. I ought to get that much for croaking Remingwood. Some more dough for fixing Quill."

LAWSHAM was tapping the desk. He saw a possible flaw in the story. That was exactly what The Shadow wanted, and had expected. He didn't have to read Lawsham's thoughts; he had foreseen them.

There was a chance that Quill had needed special services from one of his men. Logically, he would have chosen Bosco; but Lawsham knew that Bosco was dead. Quill could have chosen Pike as substitute.

Pike, not Quill, might be the double-crosser. Knowing too much of the game, he might have gassed Quill, then cooked up the story, to claim the five thousand dollars - and more. Lawsham finished that mental process. Tilting his head, he looked shrewdly toward The Shadow.

"Think I'm stringing you, prof?" demanded The Shadow, preserving his thick-lipped grin. "That's why I gassed Quill, instead of croaking him. Just so there wouldn't be no argument."

"No argument?"

"That's it!" The harsh tone became earnest. "Look, prof. I ain't selling you no bum bill of goods. You yank Quill out of this trance he's in and put the heat on him. You do it right and he'll go yellow. When he does, you'll find out that what I told you is the real McCoy!"

Lawsham considered; at last, he nodded.

"An excellent idea!" he decided. "By tomorrow night -"

"Nothing doing!" The Shadow shook his head. "I'm lamming tonight, and I want the dough that'll be coming to me. Besides" - The Shadow added the next bait shrewdly - "there's a chance Quill may have put some other guys wise to something. If I was you, I wouldn't waste no time finding out. Quill's the bozo that can answer. If you don't know how to give the heat, I'll show you."

Lawsham saw the value of the argument. He also decided that Pike's services might prove useful, if Quill refused to talk. Opening the door, Lawsham called his servants. He told one to remain with Pike; he ordered the others to carry Quill to the test room.

While the servants were present, Lawsham reached in a desk drawer, took out a leather-bound notebook. He didn't see the glitter that came to the eyes of the pretended Pike Fengel.

The Shadow knew, almost to a certainty, that the little book contained the formula for the antidote to the sleeping gas. To risk fighting for it at this moment would be too great, especially with three of Lawsham's men on hand.

Indifferently, The Shadow lighted a cigarette. He asked as Lawsham was leaving the office:

"How long you going to be, prof?"

"About a half hour," replied Lawsham. "Just why do you wish to know?"

"Thought maybe you had some books with pitchers in 'em," returned The Shadow. "I get the heebies, sitting around looking at nothing."

Lawsham told the servant to bring some picture magazines from a book rack in a corner of the office.

Leaving, the professor closed the door. He decided that one of his capable watchers could keep Pike Fengel pacified.

IN the test room, Professor Lawsham consulted the formula book. His assistants brought him chemical mixtures as he called for them. From those, Lawsham compounded a greenish gas, that filled a large glass cylinder.

They wheeled in a portable bench that looked like an operating table, with Quill stretched upon it. An oxygen tent was placed over the racketeer's head. Attaching a hose, Lawsham let the gas trickle through.

The door of the test room was shut; the scene was tense. Lawsham was counting seconds, as he changed the flow of the gas. Slowly, the greenish line descended into the cylinder, then stopped.

Like Lawsham, the assistants were intent upon the scene. They didn't notice the slow inching open of the door, when it occurred. All during the process, they were watched by eyes that peered from the outer laboratory.

Lawsham tolled off several minutes, then gave another application of the gas. He cut the flow to a mere trickle, as he leaned beside the oxygen tent to listen. Quill's breathing had changed. It was choky, spasmodic.

"Oxygen!" ordered Lawsham, cutting off the gas. "Let him have it slowly."

One assistant removed the gas hose; the other applied a tube from an oxygen tank. The new flow brought deeper, steadier strength to Quill's stifled breathing. Lawsham nodded; the treatment was finished.

The little tent was taken away. Quill lay with his eyes closed, breathing ordinary air in long, satisfied drafts. His eyes opened; he propped himself upon the table, blinked at Lawsham. The professor glanced at his watch.

"Pike will be pleased," he remarked, dryly. "The half hour is not quite over."

Quill's senses were restored, although he looked weak and shaky. Perhaps that shakiness was due partly to another sight that met his eyes. Lawsham's assistants had produced revolvers. One on each side of the table, they were holding Quill covered.

"What - what's the idea?" gulped Quill. "Say, prof, how'd I get here - and why the gats?"

"You don't remember," soothed Lawsham. "Ah! Neither did Remingwood, until I unwisely reminded him.

In your case, Quill, a jog of the memory may be useful. I spoke of Remingwood - by the way, where is he?"

Quill chewed his lips. Lawsham nodded, wisely.

"So you double-crossed me!" he sneered. "It appears that Pike was right. Pike Fengel - do you remember the name, Quill?"

A look of terror came to Quill's blunt face. His hard eyes darted wildly, his long jaw quivered. The men who covered him thought that mere guilt caused that expression; but Lawsham knew Quill too well, to let it pass at that.

"Pike Fengel!" blurted Quill. "What do you know about him?"

"I've met him," replied Lawsham, watching Quill closely. "He's here - in my office."

"He can't be!" Quill's tone was frantic. "Pike's dead! The guy that's here - he's - he's -"

Lawsham didn't wait for the completion of Quill's gasping sentence. The truth had struck the shrewd professor. He grabbed his men, pointed them to the door and gave a raucous order.

That command drowned the final words that Quill panted:

"The Shadow!"

CHAPTER XX. LIVING AND DEAD

LAWSHAM'S burly servants were through the doorway and halfway across the laboratory before the professor was out of the test room. Stopping just beyond the threshold, Lawsham pulled a revolver of his own, to back his fighters in case of a sudden fray.

He saw them yank open the door of the office. As they sprang in, Lawsham viewed the scene they uncovered.

The only person in the room was the servant who had stayed to watch Pike Fengel. The servant was bound and gagged, stretched on the couch amid a litter of discarded pictorials.

On the desk rested the satchel that the fake Pike had brought. It was open, empty, but not in hope of receiving Lawsham's tainted cash. Black objects had been taken from that bag; the crooked professor was soon to realize what they were.

An eerie laugh whispered through the laboratory. Lawsham heard it, realized that the sound came from behind him. The professor spun about, to see The Shadow step from the wall, squarely to the threshold of the test room.

Cloaked in black, The Shadow had become a being of vengeance. He had penetrated to the source of crime; he held its chief perpetrator helpless. For an instant, Lawsham's scrawny hand tightened its clutch on his unaimed revolver, despite the menace of The Shadow's looming automatic.

"Unwise, professor!" The Shadow's tone was sibilant. "Your efforts will be useless. Your formula book is on the bench. The tank is still well filled. I have witnessed your entire procedure. No details were missed."

Recognizing that his life was worthless to The Shadow, Lawsham let the revolver clatter. His thin arms came upward. At a motion from the automatic, Lawsham sidestepped. Two seconds later, he was gritting oaths at his folly in obeying that gun nudge.

The Shadow had moved Lawsham over, to point a second .45 at the two servants who had piled from the office. Tricked by the tone of The Shadow's laugh, they had looked in the wrong direction. When they stared toward the test room, they saw that they were covered. They let their guns drop.

Two steps back in the test room, The Shadow spoke cold words to Lawsham.

"Your pretexts were useless," he told the professor. "The evening that Arlene Delton came here, this house was unwatched. Yet crooks sought her life immediately after she returned to her apartment. It was obvious that you had issued the order.

"Odd, too, how you 'remembered' those telephone calls from Hadley; how crooks showed up here to trail Vincent when he left. You had time to summon them when you went below. All in all, professor," -

the tone was mocking - "Remingwood's testimony was helpful, but not essential."

Lawsham stretched to his full height. He folded his arms, tilted back his head to shake away locks of whitish hair.

"Of what am I guilty?" he questioned, cannily. "Thurnig, Brellick, Mandor - none are dead. They are ill, like Vincent and Arlene. You will restore them to soundness - and I will be very much obliged to you, for then I cannot be charged with murder!"

LAWSHAM'S beady eyes were watching The Shadow. Tiny pinpoints, they sought to scrutinize the face beneath the brim of the slouch hat. Lawsham wanted to analyze The Shadow's expression, before offering more argument.

There was one fact which the shrewd professor had wisely dodged. It was The Shadow who suddenly presented it.

"You have forgotten Broyce," spoke The Shadow. "One man, Lawsham, who was murdered at your order."

The professor's lips produced a grin. He was prepared for that statement. His smirk faded, his face took on a look of well-feigned sorrow.

"Poor Doctor Broyce," he said. "He had a shock - one that his weak heart could not stand. There is no one, however, who could ever prove that Broyce was here when the attack struck him; that it was induced by inhalation of the sleep gas.

"Broyce was found dead, in a bus, traveling west. He was pronounced a victim of a heart ailment.

Unfortunately" - Lawsham's smirk had reappeared - "he had no papers that identified him. No, Broyce's death will never be classed as murder."

So sure was Lawsham of that point that he stepped closer to The Shadow, raising his head boldly. If ever a master mind of crime had prepared to meet all emergencies, that man was Professor Uriah Lawsham.

"Should you testify regarding my activities," he chuckled, "you can swear only that you saw me restore a gassed victim - our friend, Quill Baxton. Young Remingwood, it happens, owes his life to me, and will have to testify to that effect. More than that, I can produce the record that credits him with our new process, granting me only the right of purchase.

"As for the option that I gave Mandor and his associates, I can produce it also, with receipts for money already paid me. When they reached Mandor, he can only thank me for preserving them. He will be too pleased to accuse me of misdeeds."

The Shadow shifted slightly. From the edge of his cloak, a bit of white appeared - the end of a long envelope. It told Lawsham that The Shadow had already acquired the papers mentioned, while in the little office. Lawsham bowed, as though The Shadow had done him a favor.

Despite the professor's smugness, the pretense that he wished to clear himself, The Shadow could see an evil gleam in those tiny eyes. It was a quick-flashed signal, well-covered; but it gave the next move away.

Behind The Shadow's back, Quill Baxton had risen from the wheeled table. He was reaching for the tank that contained the green gas, hoping to smash it upon The Shadow's head. That would have been a double deed to Lawsham's liking: elimination of The Shadow, along with the antidote that could save the Dead Who Lived.

Lawsham's quick look was an instinctive signal of encouragement to Quill. It proved useless. Quill's fingers were numbed forever before they could tighten on the glass.

The Shadow's right hand sped in a semicircle; his fingers pressed a gun trigger. Quill sagged, stabbed to the heart by the bullet that came with tonguing flame.

THE SHADOW had seen Quill's moves reflected in the chromium-plated surface of a globular sterilizing cabinet just inside the doorway. With Quill's figure dwarfed by that convex mirror, The Shadow had too small a target to take chances on a clipping shot.

The sweep of The Shadow's arm took away the gun that covered Lawsham. No longer did the professor display a faltering gait. He was on the move the instant that The Shadow started to cover Quill.

Recovering his revolver with a long-armed scoop, Lawsham came bounding in with agile speed. His servants gave a shout as they sprang from the office doorway, reclaiming their guns.

The Shadow made a long step forward to meet Lawsham. His left hand was busy loosing shots at the reckless servants. While they were doubling to the floor, The Shadow made a sidestep that forced Lawsham to a shift of aim. The old professor fired; his shot hit the door frame.

With a sweep, The Shadow sidled in upon him. A fierce laugh mocked Lawsham; he was covered again, by a muzzle that almost touched his forehead. Wildly, the professor dropped; as The Shadow's hand slugged downward, Lawsham came up beneath his swing.

A choppy left-hand stroke was all The Shadow needed to bash the revolver from Lawsham's fist. Even the loss of the gun didn't stop the maddened professor. He had become a frantic fiend. Clutching for The Shadow's throat, he forced his black-cloaked adversary toward the wall.

Footsteps pounded; more servants were coming from the floor above, attracted by the gunfire. They saw the struggle between their master and The Shadow. Four in number, they deployed, hoping to get an angled range of fire.

While he fought off Lawsham, The Shadow kept the professor as a shield. He had a gun loose; with it, he could have picked off the servants. Instead, The Shadow gave them a defiant laugh - one that halted them. There was something sinister in that challenge, that told them they were trapped.

New footsteps proved it. Before the servants could wheel to the stairs, men appeared there. Dick Remingwood had arrived, accompanied by a pair of The Shadow's agents. They had used the old route through the bay window.

Flinging Lawsham to the floor, The Shadow let the murderous professor grovel there, his gun just out of reach. The servants were disarmed. Dick and the men with him were following The Shadow's low-toned orders, while their cloaked chief kept foemen covered.

It was Dick who pocketed the precious notebook that contained the formula for the antidote. Cliff Marsland and "Hawkeye" - the two agents of The Shadow - carried away the cylinder of green gas. The Shadow intended to use it immediately, without mixing more.

Dick stopped to open the rear entrance to the basement. When he had gone up the main stairs, The Shadow stepped in the same direction. Lawsham, glowering, kept watching him; the servants stood sullen and silent.

Men were coming through that rear passage. The first to arrive was Inspector Joe Cardona; behind him, a squad of detectives. They had received a tip-off while searching through Quill's hide-out; a call from The Shadow!

Knowing that Lawsham had intended to take half an hour, The Shadow had made that call from the professor's own office, just after overpowering the lone guard stationed there. When Cardona received orders in The Shadow's whispery voice, Joe followed them.

THE SHADOW watched the law take over. Uriah Lawsham made a grab for his revolver; but one detective kicked the gun away, while another pinned the professor's arms behind him. That grip didn't last long.

Madly, Lawsham broke the hold. Fighting, clawing at the dicks, he dived for the test room. The Shadow couldn't get off a shot; the detectives were in the way. Like The Shadow, Joe Cardona saw the professor grab bottles from a shelf. Joe shouted a warning.

Detectives dropped back. Triumphantly, Lawsham, raised those bottles, to heave them into the laboratory. His murderous eyes were wild with delight; like his high-pitched, incoherent cries, they registered his thoughts.

The Shadow had left! There was still a chance for flight! Moreover, it meant death for these invaders who represented the law that Lawsham despised!

A gun spurted from the stairway. That shot was aimed three inches above Lawsham's right hand. It cracked a bottle filled with purplish fluid, sent the liquid deluging to the floor. Lawsham jolted in stark surprise, as if he had received the bullet himself. As he clawed the air with his empty right hand, he lost his grip on the bottle in his left.

The second container shattered. Thick, blackish fluid mingled with the purple. A puff of smoke filled the test room; flames spurted everywhere, licking along the shelves. More chemicals exploded in a miniature cannonade.

Fire roared from the little room, coming in furious spurts. Detectives snatched up extinguishers from the laboratory, hoping to confine the blaze to the smoke-filled test room. In that, they were successful, although the place had the appearance of a turbulent volcano.

Amid the roar of the flames came a fade of wild-screeched shouts, that were gone with the man who uttered them, long before the deluge of flame had subsided.

Those shrieks were the last of Uriah Lawsham, as the evil professor perished in his self-made hell.

CHAPTER XXI. THE DEAD RETURN

THERE was a laugh, mirthless as a knell, that sounded when Professor Lawsham perished. It came from the blackness of the stairway. Listening detectives heard it, but could not guess its source.

For the stairway, itself, was void by the time those echoes faded, like the dwindling crackles of the flame.

The Shadow had conquered crime; he had been present to stifle a master fiend's last thrust. The Shadow was gone.

Again, his departure told of things to come.

The next sensation in the episode of the Dead Who Lived was the sudden and remarkable recovery of all the victims who had inhaled the sleep gas. It took place within the next few hours, under the supervision of Doctor Rupert Sayre.

First to revive were Harry Vincent and Arlene Delton, whose stay under the power of the death sleep had been a short one. Thurnig, Brellick and Mandor were more difficult cases; but Sayre's skill eased them back to life, thanks to the antidote that The Shadow provided.

The three investors were well enough, the next day, to read the newspaper reports that supplied the final links to crime; for Sayre had also revived the crooks who served Quill Baxton, and for once, such thugs were telling the police everything they knew.

That departure from underworld tradition was attributed to the after effects of the sleep gas; but the theory was wrong. What loosened the tongues of all the crooks was their recollection of the mighty battler who had overpowered them single-handed, and put them among the Dead Who Lived.

The revived crooks wanted no more conflict with The Shadow. To avoid it, they talked, even admitting their part in murder, rather than again incur The Shadow's wrath.

In fact, Sayre's observations indicated that the sleep gas left no after effects upon persons who had been strong enough to stand the original treatment. Such talk had been a pretext on the part of Professor Lawsham, to induce Dick Remingwood to stay in Hadley at the crook-manned sanitarium.

The spell of the sleep gas was ended. Those longest under its influence were wholly recovered, except for weakness that was attributed to lack of recent nourishment.

TWO days later, at the hospital, Doctor Sayre allowed the three investors to hold a brief conference.

James Mandor showed the options to Martin Brellick and George Thurnig, explaining that the papers had been mysteriously delivered to him. The three discussed other matters, that were finally left entirely to Mandor.

That led to a meeting between James Mandor and Dick Remingwood.

Himself the proven owner of the formula for the cheap production of synthetic rubber, Dick held the very key that the investors wanted. The process was his, not Lawsham's, and he was free to discuss new terms. They were fair enough, and Mandor eagerly accepted them.

The proposed company was incorporated, with Dick as an equal shareholder. The directors - Mandor, Brellick, and Thurnig - forthwith elected him president. Dick was given full charge of production, while their task was to raise additional capital, a matter which offered very little difficulty.

Among those desirous of buying stock in the new concern was Lamont Cranston, a millionaire whose ability at picking good investments led many to follow his lead. Again, the hand of The Shadow was visible in the affairs of the Dead Who Lived.

To Dick Remingwood, however, there came a greater reward than any that promise of wealth could produce. That was his marriage to Arlene Delton, a quiet ceremony attended by only a few friends, Harry Vincent among them.

The bride and groom were aboard a liner, ready to depart for a long West Indies cruise, when Harry joined them, to see them off. They were seated in the spacious lounge, when they heard a steward's call:

"All ashore!"

Harry raised his glass. He gave a toast:

"To the honeymoon!"

Dick shook his head. He smiled at Arlene. She knew the words that were in her husband's mind.

It was Arlene who spoke them, her tone filled with fervent recollection of the person whose deeds had brought this final happiness:

"To The Shadow!"

THE END