The Star of Delhi

The effect was good, and she added the brownish hue to her arms and hands.

She was just finished, when the apartment bell announced the Rajah of Lengore.

Margo met her escort in the apartment lobby. He was as handsome as his photograph, and quite tall.

His smile of greeting was a bit troubled by sight of Margo's fur coat, but when she explained that she was wearing the Hindu costume, too, he gave a pleased nod. The rajah, himself, was wearing his uniform and a compact turban.

They stepped into a waiting limousine, and as they rode away together, the rajah produced an array of rings and bracelets for his niece to wear.

There was an anklet, too, the most expensive item among all the jewelry. Of gold, studded with diamonds and rubies, it was so heavy that when Margo crossed her knees, she found it more comfortable to keep her left foot on the floor, since the band of gold was on her left ankle.

When they reached their destination, Margo was rather surprised to find it an old-fashioned office building. A man stepped from an elevator to give the Oriental visitors a curious look, but when the rajah announced in slow but perfect English that he was Cranston's friend, the elevator man took them up.

At the top, Margo saw an elevator door which had a pane of thick bulletproof glass. Peering through, a servant studied the visitors, then opened the door.

They were ushered into a room of paneled oak, where a crabby old man sat behind a desk on which rested a tray with a half-finished bowl of milk toast. The servant was already helping Margo remove her fur coat, when the old man looked up. The expression of annoyance that Uriah Crome was showing to impress Commissioner Weston, took a very sudden change.

Open-mouthed, Crome scanned the uniformed Rajah of Lengore, then, let his widening eyes take in Margo from head to foot. The rajah was introducing himself, and announcing that the lady was his niece, which Crome could readily believe.

Margo's complexion looked about the same hue as the rajah's, and her bizarre Oriental costume revealed a shapeliness that suited the specifications of a Hindu princess. But the feature that overwhelmed Crome, and won him to immediate belief, was the display of jewelry that Margo flashed for his especial benefit.

The rajah had placed a necklace of emeralds and diamonds around his niece's neck, and those gems made a wonderful splash. Bracelets and rings attracted Crome's down-sweeping eye, and when he saw the anklet, with its sparkle of diamonds and fire of rubies, he drew a long, amazed gasp.

The bitter flicker to his lips was just a recollection of the half million dollars that he had spent, under forced pressure, for the Star of Delhi.

IF the Rajah of Lengore intended to pawn his niece's gems, and had asked her to wear them here for the effect on Uriah Crome, it was certainly a case of super-salesmanship. Already, Crome was wishing that he could afford to purchase those adornments wholesale.

Catching the covetous glint in the old man's eye, Margo began to picture herself peeling off layers of jewels and dropping them on Crome's desk, while the rajah would be counting money in return.

It made her angry at Lamont, and at the rajah, too. Cranston's helping the rajah to sell jewels to Crome was fair enough, but Margo didn't like the idea of being used as an attraction to raise the price. She could imagine how a real Hindu princess would feel if called upon by an avaricious uncle to make a public sacrifice of her personal jewels, to impress an old miser like Crome.

She intended to tell Lamont what she thought of him, when she met him. Meanwhile, she'd act the part that she was playing, even though it was helping the very cause that she considered detestable.

Then, as the Rajah of Lengore spoke in a slow, musical tone, Margo was overwhelmed with remorse for having formed so wrong an opinion of Cranston and his Hindu friend.

The rajah, too, had observed Crome's gaze and was politely telling the old collector that none of his niece's jewels were for sale. Instead, the Rajah of Lengore had come to buy gems from Uriah Crome, and had requested his niece to accompany him, that she might compare with her present adornments whatever items Crome offered.

Indeed, the rajah's tone implied a doubt that Crome had many jewels that the princess would care to own.

It was the right way to deal with Crome. Testily, the old collector pressed buttons on his desk and started panels spinning all about the room. Bobbing about like a jack-in-the-box, he pointed his visitors to one display case after another, trying to impress them with his marvelous collection.

They went from topazes to opals, past shelves that teemed with specimens of turquoise and amethyst. On beyond an array of diamonds, to emeralds and rubies, finally stopping at a case of sapphires. It was there that the rajah made his closest study; he shook his head in disappointment.

"I had hoped to find the one gem that I wanted," he announced. "The great Star of Delhi."

Never had any man been taken more off guard than Uriah Crome.

Margo looked quickly at the old collector, saw his face go as purple as the shelves of sapphires. Crome's lips were wagging, but no words came from them. It was the Rajah of Lengore who spoke.

"In my land," said the rajah sagely, "we regard no gem as worthy of importance unless men have died in quest of it. Every great ruby can be said to own its color from the blood of those who have warred for its possession. The green of emeralds comes from the grass that grows above the graves of those whose lives were lost in seeking to gain, or keep, the stone they so prized.

"Seldom has any sapphire brought murder to its owner. But the stars of the sky have now looked down upon six scenes of death. I would like the Star of Delhi, itself, to speak its story, like the stars of the firmament. In my land, we believe in the stars. They have told me that the Star of Delhi was not destroyed -"

"No, no!" interrupted Crome. "It was cut, I tell you, into six smaller sapphires!"

"Such could not be," inserted the rajah, while Margo stared, enraptured by his manner. "No man like yourself, Mr. Crome, would have allowed such a crime to happen. Such a crime, I mean, as the ruin of the priceless Star of Delhi. I would only like to see the gem, to know if it could have a price."

THE rajah's definition of crime was the point that made Crome capitulate. He felt, at last, that he had found a friend in whom he could confide. Weighed down by the secret of the Star's true story, craving to be rid of the purchase that Garmath had forced upon him, Crome staggered to a safe and opened it.

Not only did he show the rajah the Star of Delhi, he poured out the whole history of Lenfell's swindle and Garmath's double cross. With it, Crome swore that he had known nothing of impending murder until after the deaths had been delivered. Garmath's visit had been his first meeting with the master killer.

Margo believed him, as did the rajah. Finding them sympathetic, Crome added to his tale of woe.

"If I sell the Star of Delhi," he said hoarsely, "Garmath may kill me! He knows that I am worried -"

The telephone bell began to ring. The start that Crome gave convinced Margo that the old man expected a call from Garmath. The Rajah of Lengore was of the same opinion. He stepped close to Crome.

"Tell Garmath that you are glad you bought the Star," advised the rajah. "Say that all you want is a way out, in case anyone accuses you of owning it."

"But - how?"

"Garmath made one replica of the Star of Delhi," returned the rajah. "Ask him to manufacture another. It will be your alibi. You can produce it, upon demand; when it is examined and found to be synthetic, you will be regarded as another dupe, like Lenfell; nothing more."

His lips tightening in a wise smile, Crome picked up the telephone. His voice firmed as he chatted with Garmath. In the course of conversation, Crome put the request that the rajah had suggested. His call finished, he hung up, still retaining his smile.

"It will take forty-eight hours," he declared. "Then, Garmath will deliver the replica. After that, I can sell you the Star of Delhi. I shall put the false stone with my other sapphires, where anyone can view it, while I smile. Anyone, including Jan Garmath, should he visit me!"

Margo thought that the visit was completed, but she was wrong. For the next fifteen minutes, the Rajah of Lengore continued to talk terms with Uriah Crome regarding the future sale of the real Star of Delhi.

When she left with the rajah, Margo felt nervous. As they rode in their limousine, she was sure that another car was following them.

A word from the rajah to the chauffeur, and the big car pulled suddenly into an obscure parking place.

Looking back, Margo saw a car round the corner and roll past. After it came a taxicab that looked very much like Moe Shrevnitz's. Margo turned to speak to the man beside her. Her new friend, the rajah, was gone!

The cab was slowing, but only for a moment. As it picked up speed, Margo saw blackness within its door, which had opened, and now was closing as if of its own accord. It was Moe's cab, and it had picked up a cloaked passenger, to take him along a new trail.

Alone in the limousine, Margo Lane, the erstwhile Hindu princess, realized very suddenly that Lamont Cranston couldn't have gone to the Cobalt Club this evening. Instead, he had come to take her to Crome's.

For Lamont Cranston had played the part of the imaginary Rajah of Lengore; now both - Cranston and the rajah - had merged into the cloaked personality of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XIX. CRIME'S FORCED THRUST

IN a little boxlike room, Jan Garmath sat at a desk studying an array of gems. He recognized the knock at the door and spoke for his visitor to enter. Dwig Brencott stepped into sight. Without looking up, Garmath used a pair of tweezers to lift a fair-sized ruby and hold it into the light.

"How do you like it?" queried Garmath. "I fused it from three smaller stones. One good way to dispose of stolen goods at high prices. This work intrigues me, Dwig -"

"Trouble, chief," Dwig interposed. "Thought I'd better tell you."

"Is it Sherbrock again?" snarled Garmath. "We've been too lenient with the fellow. Maybe he realizes that we are feeding him well, and keeping him in good health, so they will not believe him should he claim that he was kidnapped."

"We can put Sherbrock back in circulation soon enough," affirmed Dwig. "He's the fellow to take the rap for all the job's we've pulled. But Sherbrock isn't the trouble. It's Crome."

Garmath perched his thin chin in his hand and gave Dwig a very dubious stare.

"Listen, chief," Dwig insisted earnestly. "You've got to take this seriously. Only two nights ago, I tried to trail the Hindu who stopped in at Crome's -"

"And failed -"

"Yes," Dwig, conceded, "I failed. But suppose The Shadow was around. What if he trailed me back here?"

Garmath shook his head, as though the argument wearied him.

"If The Shadow had located us," declared Garmath, "he would have attacked at once. Calm yourself on that point, Dwig. Now - what about Crome?"

"I called our look-out over there," replied Dwig. "He says that Commissioner Weston just dropped in for a chat with our dear friend, Uriah Crome!"

There wasn't a flicker of alarm on Garmath's dryish features. Rather, the situation intrigued the master murderer. He drew a watch from his pocket and noted the time; then remarked:

"Only an hour more -"

He shrugged, as though a trifle disappointed. Then, gathering his fused gems into a box, Garmath considered the changed situation. He finally explained it, for Dwig's benefit.

"I had intended to let you deliver the synthetic sapphire that Crome wanted," Garmath said. "Partly as a test; also, so that you could get a good look at his premises. Had he decided to sell the Star of Delhi to the Rajah of Lengore, it would have meant the end of my promise to protect him. I planned to wait and see."

"And send me to Crome," reminded Dwig, "if you found out he'd double-crossed you."

"Precisely! His receiving the police commissioner is the equivalent of a double cross. It gives us the privilege of reprisal. Go there at once, Dwig, with your crew, and settle scores with Crome."

"We're to handle the commissioner, too?"

"Of course! By this time, Crome is probably telling him the whole story. Bring back all of Crome's jewels, including the Star of Delhi."

With Dwig, Garmath walked from the tiny room into a larger one. Lights showed a stone-walled passage just ahead. This hide-away was underground. Dwig started out through the passage, then paused.

"If I pull away the whole crew," he reminded, "the place won't be safe -"

"Anything unknown is safe," interrupted Garmath testily. "Try to forget The Shadow, Dwig. However, you may leave one man, to answer the signal when you return. Of course" - he nudged toward a narrow stairway that led upward - "I still have Krem. He is worth half a dozen of your men."

Dwig didn't dispute the question. He went out by his own route, taking along five men who were waiting in another room. Cautiously, they left by a steel door and came up to the level of the sidewalk. Sending four men across to a darkened alley, Dwig told one to wait.

"We're going on a job," Dwig informed the guard. "Three raps - two quick, then a slow one" - Dwig illustrated, by clanking a revolver butt against the door - "means we're back. Don't waste time letting us in. We may be in a rush."

Dwig waited until the guard had gone back into the hide-away and bolted the door, then he joined his companions, glancing along the street as he crossed to the alley. He didn't observe the long, black form that detached itself from the wall beside the door to the hide-away.

The Shadow was here!

QUITE in variance to Garmath's theory, the cloaked investigator had attempted no invasion, even though he had discovered the hide-away two nights before. Garmath had disregarded one very vital point: the fact that Sherbrock was a prisoner.

Perhaps Garmath thought that The Shadow didn't know it. Possibly, Garmath's own disregard for human life was so inbred that he couldn't credit The Shadow with changing vital plans on the slight chance that a man like Sherbrock might be still alive.

But The Shadow was gambling much on that possibility. He was making himself a double task, just on Sherbrock's account.

Having reasoned that Garmath would treat Sherbrock well if he kept the prisoner alive at all, The Shadow had seen no need to hurry a rescue. He wanted to make the rescue sure, and the departure of Dwig's crew increased that prospect.

Yet there was something else to do before attempting to aid Sherbrock. Gliding in the other direction, The Shadow passed beneath the abutment of a great East River bridge. He reached a car of his own and started a quick trip around by streets that led up to the bridge itself.

The hide-away was on the Long Island side of the river. As The Shadow sped up the approach, he saw Dwig's car ahead, but paid it small attention. He was more interested in taking another look at the top of Garmath's hide-away, which squatted just below the bridge, visible in the glow of lights that lined the approach.

It was a squatty, concrete structure, simply the windowless foundation of a building that had gone no further in construction. In the top was a black square that represented a trapdoor, but from one angle the bridge lights gave that patch a silvery glisten. The trapdoor was covered with steel, making it too stout a barrier for ordinary attack.

Certainly, Jan Garmath had chosen himself an unusual hide-away; a veritable stronghold. Whether or not it would come up to the conniver's expectations was something that The Shadow hoped to settle later.

For the present, his thoughts reverted to Crome.

Giving his car speed, The Shadow whizzed past Dwig Co, who were in another traffic lane. Men of their ilk never drove too fast across a bridge. Arguments with traffic cops were not to their liking.

The Shadow was the first to reach Crome's. He approached the elevator, gave a low, weird whisper that captured the attention of the seated operator.

Peering out, the fellow met a greeting quite different from the affable one that Cranston had accorded him two nights before. With a sweep, The Shadow gripped the operator, stifled his cries, and hauled him out to the rear street.

Some of The Shadow's agents were waiting there. Turning the elevator man over to them, The Shadow returned into the building accompanied by one agent: Harry Vincent. They went up in the lift. Servants saw its arriving light, peered through the glass-paned door. They were surprised to find the car empty.

One puzzled servant opened the door.

For the first time, Garmath's servants learned that there were bind spots at the front corner of the elevator that couldn't be seen through the pane. The Shadow swung from one corner, Harry from the other. Both had guns, and they took the servants flat-footed.

As soon as the three servants had raised their hands, The Shadow marched them to a side room, while Harry took the car down in a hurry. He had left the building when Dwig and the four thugs arrived.

GARMATH had given Dwig diversified instructions about getting up to Crome's - such as phoning the old collector and putting up a bluff, or threatening the elevator man and make him do the rest.

Neither prospect quite suited Dwig, so he was pleased when he found an empty elevator waiting.

Thinking that the operator had stepped out, Dwig hurried his men into the elevator and ran it to the top.

When he tried the upper door, it yielded. Dwig didn't guess that its catch had been left loosened.

Motioning for his men to follow, he started straight to the room where he knew he would find Crome.

Dwig's spy hadn't mentioned another visitor beside Weston. There was one: Margo Lane. She was listening while Weston questioned Crome about small sapphires, of the sort for which the police were searching.

All the while, Crome was tossing occasional looks toward Margo, as though he vaguely recognized her.

So far, however, he hadn't identified her as the Hindu princess who had visited him with the Rajah of Lengore. Margo was beginning to understand the reason for the masquerade of two nights before.

Crome was showing Weston many sapphires, some of the star variety, giving his opinion of how the six portions of the famous Star of Delhi would look. Though Weston didn't detect Crome's worriment, Margo did. Knowing that Cranston was a link between the rajah and the commissioner, Crome had a right to be worried.

Strolling over to a large French window, Margo slid her hand behind her and unloosed the bolt, something that Cranston had told her to do upon this visit. That was just done when Weston turned, to ask suddenly:

"I wonder what's keeping Cranston!"

"I don't know,"" returned Margo, truthfully. "Lamont simply said that he would meet us here. He insisted that Mr. Crome could help you find the sapphire that you want."

"The sapphires," croaked Crome weakly. "There are six, Miss Lane. Six star sapphires, each about the size of this one."

He was holding up a small sapphire, to illustrate, when Margo interrupted with a quick cry of alarm and darted for a corner. Weston, wheeling, flung himself the other way, carrying Crome in a sprawl beyond the desk. Five men, all masked, were entering the room with drawn guns.

For the moment, Margo thought that The Shadow's plans had missed, particularly when she saw black emptiness in the doorway behind the invaders. Then, from that very blackness came the challenging tone that made the masked crooks wheel - the laugh of The Shadow!

Five guns blasted as one, all for a target that wasn't there. Those shots were but an added signal to The Shadow's mockery. Amid the gun echoes, the French windows smashed open and in from the penthouse roof piled another squad of men, detectives headed by Inspector Joe Cardona.

Their guns ripped. The leader of the masked tribe wheeled, saw Cardona and tried to fire. Joe beat him to the shot and sprawled him to the floor, where the mask, sliding from above his eyes, revealed the face of Dwig Brencott.

Detectives, meanwhile, were lunging for the other four; whether they'd fare as well as Cardona had, was a question.

A question settled by The Shadow.

Swinging in from the side of the door, The Shadow nicked a pair of masked men with two neat shots that, to Margo, seemed simultaneous. They sprawled, those two who might otherwise have done damage. The second pair weren't dangerous. Detectives were quick enough to grab them.

Crome's servants dashed into the room as The Shadow stepped away. He had taken them into his confidence and told them to await his word. They helped the detectives suppress the wounded strugglers.

Seeing that victory was won, Cardona turned to the door, as did Margo: All that either saw or heard of The Shadow was a vanishing trace of black, a strange laugh that trailed back uncannily, to end, suddenly, with the clang of the elevator door. That mockery, however, was no tone of final parting.

It told that The Shadow was on his way to some further mission, where he would again summon men of the law!

CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S PROOFS

EVEN more than the timely arrival of The Shadow, the appearance of Inspector Cardona had amazed Commissioner Weston. Commotion ended, Weston demanded to know how and when Cardona had arrived at Crome's. In his turn, Joe was surprised to find his chief on the scene.

Cardona explained that he had received a tip-off from The Shadow, who told him to bring his men to the ninth floor of an adjoining building and stay on watch outside a lighted penthouse. He hadn't known that the place was Crome's, nor that Weston was a visitor.

Those details were scarcely explained before Crome interrupted the discussion. In a high-pitched quaver, the old gem collector was giving his story. Knowing that Dwig and the accompanying thugs must have come from Garmath, Crome felt that his real friend was The Shadow.

Confessing that he owned the Star of Delhi, but swearing that he had played no part in crime, Crome faltered over to his safe and opened it, to fling the half-million-dollar jewel on his desk.

It took some time for Weston to get the coherent details, which included Crome's forced purchase of the gem. Crome was so desirous to establish innocence, Weston so willing to hear such details as Lenfell's proposal of a swindle that had led to Garmath's reign of murder, that neither the commissioner nor the old collector heard the ringing of the phone bell.

Cardona answered, held a brief conversation. He was starting toward the door, when Weston saw him.

"Where are you going, inspector?" called the commissioner. "This case is only half complete! We've got to find Garmath!"

"That's what I expect to do!" returned Cardona, across his own shoulder. "I've just had another tip-off from The Shadow!"

The elevator was reaching the top floor when Cardona and his squad approached. It was being brought up by a rather dazed operator, who was somewhat surprised to find himself back in the car. Cardona and the detectives entered the car and went down.

OVER at the hide-away beyond the big bridge, the guard posted by Dwig heard the signaling thumps of a gun handle. He peered out cautiously, saw the dim lights of a car parked in the opposite alley.

The lights went out, indicating that Dwig's men were about to follow their leader across the street. But it wasn't Dwig, who had thumped.

Gloved hands hooked the guard's throat and lashed him clear of the partly opened door. A sinister whisper, fraught with mockery, sounded in the thug's ear - The Shadow's whisper - enough to take the fight from any man of crime. Into the arms of arriving agents, The Shadow tossed the limply settling figure of his gasping prisoner.

Then, alone, The Shadow ventured into the hide-away.

It was still no time for a massed onslaught. Alone, Jan Garmath would be a difficult foe. He was the elusive creeper whose footfalls were almost as deceptive as The Shadow's laugh. Once he sensed the approach of enemies, Garmath would employ uncanny cunning. The only policy was for The Shadow to use lone tactics of his own to force a meeting with the supercrook.

Proof came immediately.

Barely started into the passage, The Shadow heard the creep of footsteps and sidled into a darkened corner. His gloved hand motioned a signal back to the door, where Harry Vincent, just inside, pressed the door shut and turned toward it.

From somewhere in the passage, Garmath saw Harry's back and mistook him for the guard.

Footsteps shuffled away. It was impossible to tell their direction, at first; then The Shadow sensed that they were going upward, which meant that Garmath must have come from a lower room and started to a floor above. Silently, The Shadow glided inward, found the stairs and followed.

At the top, he saw a doorless opening into a large room. In one corner was a smaller room, barred like a cell. The Shadow saw Garmath look that way. Through the bars, a white face peered back.

It was the face of Roger Sherbrock, the kidnapped lapidary. The scene was setting itself as The Shadow wanted.

Above, The Shadow saw the glisten of the steel trapdoor, which, as he expected, was double padlocked on the underside. It was in the very center of the large room, about eight feet above the floor.

There was a doorway in another corner, but Garmath did not go that far. Instead, he stopped at a squatty contrivance that looked like an electric furnace. He busied himself there so intently, that The Shadow decided to approach.

Exacting in everything he did, Jan Garmath was not the man to let one plan interfere with another. It might be, in his estimate, that Dwig Brencott would return from Crome's with the news that all was well there.

Garmath knew how he had personally thrown fear into Crome, and perhaps the old collector would be capable of staging a good bluff.

If so, Crome would deserve the synthetic sapphire that he had requested, as an alibi to cover his possession of the Star of Delhi. That sapphire was ready, in the same mold that Garmath had used to make a similar gem for Lenfell.

The crucible had cooled; when Garmath opened it, his eyes sparkled as if reflecting the sight he saw.

Shining from its mold was a blue starolite, as good as the imitation that Lenfell had once mistaken for the original Star of Delhi, and which now belonged to Commissioner Weston. Its color was perfect, a rich deep blue. But as Garmath reached for it, he saw the sapphire darken - something which he couldn't quite understand.

He stepped to one side, to study it from another angle. Garmath's hand brushed the cloth of a cloak sleeve.

Suddenly paralyzed, Garmath felt the cloth slide forward. A gloved hand intervened between his own and the brilliant imitation gem that twinkled from the mold. The hand of The Shadow, whose lips were uttering a taunt in Garmath's very ear. Crime's foe had found crime's maker!

There, in The Shadow's reach, lay crime's final proof. It was evidence that Garmath, free in this hidden laboratory, dealt in the manufacture of great, synthetic gems, while Sherbrock, a prisoner in the same place, was helpless to prevent him!

So petrified was Garmath, that he seemed truly conquered. Then, in an instant, his manner changed. He was whipping away, in snakelike style, uttering a defiant hiss: a new challenge to The Shadow.

Drowning Garmath's tone came a cry from Sherbrock. The prisoner was pointing excitedly to the other corner and its open door.

Through that space lunged a huge figure, Garmath's ace in the hole, the man called Krem. Garmath had credited Krem with being stronger than Dwig's whole crew, and Krem proceeded to back the claim.

Swooping before The Shadow could turn upon him with drawn automatic, Krem clutched the cloaked fighter about both arms. When he found he couldn't keep a grip upon his twisting adversary, the giant flung The Shadow half across the room.

Rolling to his feet, The Shadow looked groggily for Garmath and saw the murderer making for the door that led below. With a spurt of his old speed, The Shadow tried to head off the fugitive; but Garmath stopped short of the door and tugged a switch, set in the wall. A steel curtain slashed downward, blocking the door.

Krem was almost upon The Shadow. Knowing he hadn't time to meet the bone-crushing giant, The Shadow sprang for Garmath, who was drawing a gun. Had The Shadow shot Garmath at that moment, he would never have been able to stop the vengeful Krem.

Instead of shooting, The Shadow spun Garmath about; imitating Krem's tactics, he sent Garmath spinning across the room, which brought Krem to a momentary halt. Making the most of that interval, The Shadow drove straight at Krem, aiming his gun at the huge man, instead of Garmath.

Krem caught The Shadow's arm and shoved it upward. Gleefully, he forced his cloaked adversary back against the wall, expecting Garmath to return and supply the finish with some bullets.

The Shadow was shooting, but his aim was toward the ceiling, and he was foolishly wasting all his shots.

So Krem thought, and the giant gave a huge, bellowing laugh.

There were two things that Krem couldn't see. One was where The Shadow's hard fling had sent Garmath - straight, to the door of Sherbrock's cell, where the prisoner had clutched his hated captor through the bars and was wrenching his gun away from him, a task made easy, because Garmath had hit the cell door with a force that badly jarred him.

The other thing that Krem missed was the effect of The Shadow's shots. His aim was toward the trapdoor in the ceiling, and his bullets were shattering the padlocks that barred it!

Slumping suddenly, The Shadow went almost to the floor, with Krem pouncing after him. A quick twist, and The Shadow was away. Garmath saw him and wrenched from Sherbrock's grasp, going after the cloaked fighter barehanded, for Sherbrock had obtained the gun.

Not realizing that Garmath was too dazed even to reach The Shadow, Sherbrock fired all the shots he had.

The bullets sprawled Garmath at The Shadow's feet, just as the cloaked fighter, with a sudden twist, was drawing a fresh gun to catch the blundering giant, Krem, from an unexpected angle. The Shadow had finally tricked Krem, though the giant, very shortly before, had seemed too formidable to be allowed his present leeway.

PROOF of The Shadow's foresight came in a barrage from the lifted trapdoor. Cardona and his squad had spotted their goal from the bridge, by following The Shadow's tip-off. With bullets that shattered the padlock, The Shadow had opened the way for the police, since his agents, blocked off by the steel curtain, could not reach the scene from below.

Riddled with bullets that Cardona's squad provided, Krem fell dead before The Shadow could personally settle the giant fighter.

In his fall, Krem sprawled across the body of his dead master, Jan Garmath. Dropped by bullets from his own gun, served by Roger Sherbrock, Garmath had met a proper fate at the hand of the man upon whom he had falsely foisted evidence of guilt.

Down through the trapdoor, Cardona and his detectives were finding crime's real proof. In the open crucible, they saw the false sapphire that only Garmath, free, could have manufactured - a fact which fitted with Crome's recent testimony - while Sherbrock, still a prisoner about to be released, was in a position which fully bespoke his actual innocence.

While the detectives were cracking open Sherbrock's cell, Cardona looked for The Shadow. Joe saw blackness, but it was only the open doorway to the stairway that led below. The Shadow had pulled the switch, raising the steel curtain, and was on his way to rejoin his anxious agents.

Back from the stairway came a sound as strangely untraceable as the creepy footsteps that Jan Garmath would never again provide as symbols of insidious approach. The sound that Cardona heard was not a token of advance. It was a sign of departure.

It was the laugh of The Shadow, fading off into the realm of night, though its echoes seemed to linger, as well they might.

For The Shadow's tone not only signified his triumph over crime. It was a reminder that with such conquest, he had solved the last riddle connected with the famous sapphire known as the Star of Delhi!

THE END