Grant, Maxwell - The.Shadow.Unmasks

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The Shadow Unmasks
For the first time in his long career as
crimefighter extraordinary, The Shadow
thrusts aside his veil of mystery! Not
under one of his many aliases but in
his true identity, The Shadow reveals
himself! Here, in his rarest battle
against the underworld, is exposed the
unfathomable past of that being known
to all the world as The Shadow!
CHAPTER I
CROOKS MOVE OUT
SHARK” MEGLO was staring coldly
from his apartment window. His eyes
carried a glint that matched the glitter of the
silver coin that Shark was impatiently toss-
ing with his right hand.
Each click of Shark’s thumb nail brought
a ring from the half dollar. Spinning, the coin
landed with a thwack in the waiting palm,
only to be started on another twirl.
Shark’s hard, long-jawed face was known
to the law. So was the fellow’s coin-tossing
habit. For months, the police had been look-
ing for Shark Meglo as the murderer be-
hind the most serious wave of jewel rob-
beries that had ever startled New York.
The coin’s spin ended with a final plop.
Shark’s thick lips framed an ugly smile. A
man had stepped in from the darkened
street, to reach the lighted entry of the apart-
ment house. Shark had recognized the
fellow’s face, four floors below. The arrival
was “Hood” Bleeth, Shark’s lieutenant.
Soon, there was a rap on the apartment
door. Shark admitted Hood and pointed to
a small clock that stood on a table. It showed
the time as quarter of eight. Hood’s puffy,
pock-marked face showed apology.
“I know I’m late,” admitted Hood. “Only
it was no cinch getting word to all the crew.
Anyway, the guys are all ready -”
“Then we’re set,” interrupted Shark, in a
hard-snapped tone. “The chink slipped me
the message when he brought the wash. The
job won’t be until nine o’clock.”
THE SHADOW UNMASKS
As originally published in “The Shadow Magazine,” August 1, 1937
“
by Maxwell Grant
2
The Shadow Unmasks
Hood looked relieved. He settled into the
best chair that the furnished apartment
boasted. Shark began to spin the coin again.
Hood looked anxious. He expected a fur-
ther announcement. It came.
“There’ll be another rub-out,” grated
Shark. “We can wise the crew when we get
there.”
Shark watched Hood coldly. He saw the
lieutenant’s worried air. After a few mo-
ments, Hood voiced a hoarse objection.
“It’s getting me jittery, Shark,” declared
Hood. “We’ve staged three jobs already -
keeping ‘em three or four weeks apart.
That’s smart stuff; but bumping the guys
ain’t! Whatta you want to croak those
stuffed shirts for? It don’t cover us. Instead
of being a bunch of jewel snatchers, we’re
labeled as a gang of masked killers. If it was
covering us -”
Again, Shark’s rasp interrupted.
“There’s one guy it does cover,” stated
Shark. “The bird that sells the sparklers to
begin with. It wouldn’t be much of a racket,
if the bulls knew where those rocks were
coming from.”
Amazement spread over Hood’s puffy
face. Shark was juggling the half dollar as
he watched his lieutenant. The smirk that
Shark displayed was one of evil relish.
“Cripes!” gulped Hood. “You told me
there was a big-shot in the racket. I remem-
ber you saying we didn’t have to worry
about fencing the sparklers after we grabbed
‘em. Only -”
“Only you never figured we cashed in
before we started,” inserted Shark. “The
cops haven’t figured it either; and that in-
cludes Joe Cardona, the wise bull that they
call the ace police inspector. I’ve given you
the straight dope, Hood. Keep it under your
hat.”
HOOD nodded his intention of so doing.
His knowledge of the game was complete
at last. Some jewel merchant of high repute
was behind the whole racket. That hidden
big-shot sold high priced gems to dupes; then
tipped off Shark Meglo where and when to
get them.
Shark grabbed the swag; it went back to
the big-shot. Again the reputable jeweler,
that master-crook, sold the same goods to a
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The Shadow Unmasks
new victim.
Murder was necessary; if a victim sur-
vived, he might name the man who had sold
him gems valued at a quarter million. Those
transactions were confidential ones. Death
could keep them quiet later.
“There’s only one guy who could queer
this racket,” announced Shark. “That’s The
Shadow! It’s on account of him that I’ve
been dodging from one hide-out to another.”
Hood’s pleased leer ended. Hood never
liked to hear mention of The Shadow. Shark
was right, The Shadow could finish any
game that left crime in its wake. Particu-
larly, when men of high social status were
concerned.
Crimeland knew The Shadow as a cloaked
avenger who appeared from nowhere, to
strike down murderous underworld deni-
zens. Though The Shadow’s identity was
unknown, it was conceded that he was a
personage of distinction, who would know
people of wealth.
That was why the murders of jewel-buy-
ing millionaires had carried more than usual
risk. Hood knew that it was sheer luck that
had so far enabled Shark to evade The
Shadow.
“Snap out of it, Hood,” growled Shark.
“Here, take this change the Chinaman gave
me, and get me some cigarettes up at the
corner store. I’ll be packing while you’re
gone. Take a gander at the lookout in the
lobby. Make sure he’s on the job.”
Shark gave Hood the shiny half dollar.
Leaving the apartment, Hood descended by
the automatic elevator. In the lobby, he nod-
ded to a long-limbed fellow who sat in a
little office. Hood knew the fellow; his name
was “Pinkey” Borton, a rowdy who could
put up a presentable appearance.
Whenever Shark took a new hideaway,
he always posted Pinkey at lookout. Pinkey
had wangled a clerk’s job at this shoddy
apartment house before Shark had become
a tenant.
The street was deserted, and that pleased
Hood. The underling stopped outside the
corner drug store and cast a suspicious eye
at a streamlined taxi that was stopping there.
The cab looked empty, so Hood went into
the drug store. The cab driver alighted and
entered while Hood was buying the ciga-
rettes.
Just as Hood stepped away, the cabby
asked the druggist to change a dollar bill.
The man behind the counter handed over
Shark’s half dollar along with some smaller
change.
Returning to his cab, the driver took a sly
glance at Hood, who was on his way back
to the apartment house. Once behind the
wheel, the cabby reached to the connecting
window. Holding the change that he had
received, he gave the information:
“It was Hood Bleeth!”
A whispered voice responded. A black-
gloved hand came through the window and
took the change. Half a minute later, the
cab rolled slowly along the narrow street
that Hood had taken.
As the taxi neared a darkened street out-
side the apartment house, the door opened
noiselessly. An unseen passenger stepped
from the moving cab into the blackness of
the sidewalk.
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The Shadow Unmasks
Hood had gone up in the automatic el-
evator. Pinkey was behind the office
counter, eyeing the front door. He let his
gaze shift toward the elevator. Pinkey in-
dulged in a wan smile; a swish, close beside
him, changed his expression to alarm.
Pinkey swung face to face with a surging,
black-cloaked invader who had sprung in
from the entry. He saw burning eyes shel-
tered beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Long
arms were stretching forward, driving gloved
hands for the lookout’s throat.
Pinkey recognized The Shadow.
WITH a snarl, the lookout tried to reach
the inner end of the office, by the switch-
board. He was pulling a revolver as he
sprang away; Pinkey thought that he could
gain a shot before The Shadow produced
an automatic.
The Shadow did not need a gun.
With one long drive, the cloaked invader
leaped the low counter. The Shadow’s jab-
bing hands found their target, Pinkey’s neck.
The lookout flattened beneath his cloaked
opponent. As Pinkey’s eyes bulged upward,
The Shadow’s powerful fingers choked
words from the lookout’s lips.
“Shark Meglo!” gasped Pinkey. “He - he’s
up on the fourth floor - 4 B! Hood - Hood
Bleeth’s with him! That’s all - all I know -”
A buzz from the switchboard was inter-
rupting Pinkey’s blurts. The Shadow’s fin-
gers pressed beneath Pinkey’s chin, found
the spot they wanted. The lookout slumped;
his eyes shut as his body became limp. That
skillful treatment settled him into temporary
unconsciousness, as effectively as if he had
received a knockout punch.
The buzz from the switchboard ended
before The Shadow could pick up the ear-
phones and fake Pinkey’s voice.
Without delay, The Shadow cleared the
counter and took to the stairway. He did
not have to halt to pick up Pinkey’s pass-
keys. They were dangling from the sense-
less lookout’s pocket. The Shadow carried
them along as he went past.
The stairs offered a more rapid route than
the elevator, which The Shadow would have
had to bring down from the fourth floor.
When he reached 4 B, The Shadow un-
locked the door and shoved it inward. He
twisted back across the hall, aiming an au-
tomatic for the center of the lighted room.
There was no sign of Shark and Hood. A
stir of wind through an opened window
showed the route that they had taken. They
had called Pinkey to learn if the route was
clear. Receiving no reply, the two had
cleared through the window, to the roof of
an adjoining building, then down a fire es-
cape.
When The Shadow reached the window,
he heard the snort of a starting motor in an
alleyway below. A high wall made it impos-
sible to stop, in time, the get-away that Shark
and Hood were making.
They had taken most of Shark’s luggage
with them; but in their haste they had left a
few items. There was an unopened pack-
age of laundry in the corner. The table
drawer revealed odds and ends that Shark
had not waited to junk.
His gloves removed, The Shadow picked
5
The Shadow Unmasks
through an assortment of pencils, paperclips,
paper and envelopes.
With those items was a small microscope.
The Shadow held the tiny magnifying glass
beneath the light. It was powerful, despite
its miniature size; the sort of glass that a
watchmaker would use.
The laundry package in the corner gave
The Shadow a connecting clue. From his
pocket The Shadow produced the change
that the cab driver had brought him from
the drug store.
There was a whispered laugh from hid-
den lips as The Shadow’s forefinger rubbed
the surface of the new half dollar and de-
tected a slight roughness. It was on the tail
side of the coin just beneath the eagle’s beak;
a marking that to the eye was no more than
a scratch.
Using the powerful lens, The Shadow
enlarged the view. The message appeared
in letters that had been engraved beneath a
microscope by an expert hand:
SILSAM
9 p. m.
3-6-6-3-7
PRESSING the wall switch, The Shadow
extinguished the lights. A sibilant laugh whis-
pered through the darkened apartment. The
Shadow chose the window as his exit. He
reached the fire escape of the adjacent build-
ing and descended by the route that crooks
had taken.
It was just eight o’clock. The Shadow had
one hour in which to anticipate new crime.
Shark Meglo would be due for a surprise
when he attempted to deliver robbery and
death. The Shadow no longer had need to
seek Shark’s trail. He could arrive ahead of
Shark tonight.
The Shadow had waited for an opportu-
nity like this one. His plans were made; noth-
ing, apparently, could interfere with them.
The Shadow had made due allowance for
the unexpected.
So The Shadow believed. Yet, within the
next half hour, freakish chance was to pro-
duce a dilemma of a sort that The Shadow
had never before encountered.
CHAPTER II
THE SHADOW VANISHES
TEN MINUTES AFTER his departure
from Shark’s apartment, The Shadow
was riding in the same cab that had brought
him to the killer’s hide-out. That cab was
The Shadow’s own possession; its driver,
Moe Shrevnitz, was an agent who served
The Shadow.
The Shadow was no longer an invisible
passenger. His cloak and hat were packed
away beneath the rear seat. The lights of an
avenue showed a calm-faced rider who wore
evening attire. The Shadow had taken on
the character of a man named Lamont
Cranston, a millionaire globe-trotter. He was
on his way to the exclusive Cobalt Club.
The Shadow had long guarded the fact
that he used the identity of Cranston. It was
not a fictitious personality; there was a real
Lamont Cranston, for whom The Shadow
6
The Shadow Unmasks
doubled. Cranston spent most of his time
abroad and kept his whereabouts unknown,
so that The Shadow could appear in his
stead.
Posing as Cranston, The Shadow had
access to many important places. That
helped him immensely in his battles against
crime. It kept The Shadow’s real identity a
complete mystery, even to his own associ-
ates. No one had ever guessed who The
Shadow actually was.
Tonight was to produce a chain of cir-
cumstances that would change all that.
Though The Shadow did not foresee it, he
would soon have to adopt his own identity
to best continue his incessant warfare against
crime.
Riding to the Cobalt Club, The Shadow
was thinking only of the message on Shark’s
half dollar. The Shadow had suspected that
a big-shot lay behind Shark’s crimes. Some
one who visited wealthy gem owners and
picked certain ones as victims. That big-shot,
a man of supposed good standing, had given
Shark orders for tonight.
The victim was to be a millionaire named
Silsam. There was only one possible choice:
Hugo Silsam, the copper king. As Cranston,
The Shadow had met Silsam; but had not
known that the millionaire owned many
valuable gems. That, however, had been the
case with all of the recent gem robberies.
The victims had been persons who had
recently purchased rare jewels without mak-
ing the fact public. Each robbery and its at-
tendant murder had revealed that the dead
men were collectors. If Silsam ran true to
form, his gems must be worth at least a
quarter million.
Nine o’clock.
The Shadow knew the reason for that
hour. Silsam was entertaining friends tonight,
at his old brownstone home on Madison
Avenue. The affair was simply a dinner
party; the guests would be gone by nine,
thus giving crooks the chance to tackle
Silsam alone.
The figures that had accompanied the coin
message obviously represented the combi-
nation of the safe at Silsam’s home.
THE cab reached the Cobalt Club. The
uniformed doorman bowed as he recognized
Lamont Cranston. The tall, leisurely club
member frequently used taxis around town,
and kept his big limousine across the street
from the Cobalt Club. Cranston used the
big car when he rode home to his New Jer-
sey estate, late at night.
While the doorman was pointing out a
parking space for the cab, The Shadow
strolled into the club. The attendant was
busy at the desk and did not notice Cranston
pass. With a slight smile on the lips of his
masklike face, The Shadow entered a tele-
phone booth. He called the home of Hugo
Silsam, and asked to speak with the copper
king.
The name of Cranston worked like a
charm. In a few minutes, Silsam was on the
wire. In a quiet even tone, The Shadow
asked if Silsam would be at home, later in
the evening. Silsam’s dryish cackle deliv-
ered a pleased affirmative. Cranston would
be welcome at any time.
7
The Shadow Unmasks
A slight murmur over the wire informed
The Shadow that Silsam’s guests were still
present. Hanging up the receiver, The
Shadow left the telephone booth. Maintain-
ing Cranston’s unhurried style, he strolled
out to the street noting the clock above the
desk.
Twenty-five minutes past eight. Plenty of
time to reach Silsam’s before nine o’clock
and stay there until crooks arrived. The pres-
ence of one guest would not cause Shark
Meglo to postpone his thrust. Crooks would
never suppose that Cranston, the chance
visitor, was The Shadow.
The attendant was still busy at the desk,
and The Shadow observed the fact. The
fellow happened to look up, just as Cranston
went through the door; but he caught only a
fleeting glimpse of the tall stroller’s head and
shoulders.
Before the doorman could learn whether
Cranston wanted his limousine or a taxi, a
big official car pulled up in front of the club.
From it stepped a pompous man of military
manner, whose broad features wore a
shortclipped mustache.
The arrival was Ralph Weston, New
York’s police commissioner.
“HELLO, Cranston!”
Weston ejaculated the brisk greeting be-
fore The Shadow could move away. Show-
ing Cranston’s slight smile, The Shadow
waited. A few minutes was all he needed to
get rid of the police commissioner.
The time would be well spent, since the
friendship between Cranston and Weston
was one upon which The Shadow frequently
capitalized when he wanted information re-
garding the law’s angle on recent crime.
“Come into the club,” invited Weston.
“We can have dinner in the grillroom.”
“I have dined, thank you,” smiled The
Shadow. “I am on my way to keep an ap-
pointment. Suppose I meet you later, com-
missioner.”
“Very well.” Weston showed a flicker of
disappointment. “I wanted to talk to you
about those jewel murders.”
“Has there been another?”
Weston purpled as he heard the question;
then realized that it carried no sarcasm. Se-
riously, the commissioner shook his head.
“No new robbery,” he declared. “But I
am worried, Cranston. Those crimes have
occurred at intervals of approximately three
weeks. It is almost time that another might
arrive.”
“That is why I asked my question, com-
missioner. Well, I hope to see you later -”
A shout from the corner interrupted The
Shadow’s quiet statement. A newsboy came
into view, flourishing early editions of the
morning newspapers. Approaching, the
newsie repeated his leather-lunged cry:
“Read about th’ big plane crash! T’ree
Americans injured! Big Croydon plane
wreck! T’ree Americans -”
Weston interrupted by buying two news-
papers. He passed one to The Shadow.
Spreading his own newspaper, Weston read
the huge headline that announced the wreck
of an airliner leaving England for the Ori-
ent. A pilot had been killed; seven passen-
gers injured. Among the latter were three
8
The Shadow Unmasks
Americans.
Weston saw a heading over a row of pho-
tographs. It bore the words: “Americans hurt
in Crash.” Weston’s eyes went to the pic-
tures. It stopped on the central one.
There, staring from the page was the face
of Lamont Cranston; below it, the name of
the very man for whom Weston had pur-
chased a duplicate newspaper, only half a
minute before!
Spluttering his amazement, Weston turned
to speak to The Shadow, saying as he did:
“My word, Cranston! Look at this photo!”
WESTON cut himself short. He no longer
saw his friend Cranston beside him. It never
occurred to the commissioner that his com-
panion had noticed the photograph in the
other newspaper. Nor did Weston realize that
half a minute had passed.
To Weston, the effect was that Lamont
Cranston had vanished into thin air. Then
the commissioner’s startlement ended. He
decided suddenly that something was seri-
ously amiss. He looked for the club door-
man, saw the fellow standing with a taxi
driver, a short way down the street. With a
bound, Weston went in that direction.
Quick though he was, the commissioner
did not hear the quiet words that came from
the interior of the cab. Only the doorman
caught those instructions from the pretended
Cranston. Nor did Weston see Moe’s ac-
tion at the curb.
The Shadow’s taxi driver displayed a
cupped hand that held some folded bills. The
doorman nodded.
“Where is Cranston?” bawled Weston.
“What’s become of him?”
“Mr. Cranston?” queried the doorman.
“Mr. Lamont Cranston? I don’t recall see-
ing him, commissioner.”
“What? Didn’t you see me talking to
him?”
“I recall that you were talking to some
one, sir -”
“Bah! Is this a jest?”
Weston pushed the doorman aside. He
wanted to look into the cab, but Moe hap-
pened to be blocking the way.
“Where’s the tall man who was here a
minute ago?” demanded Weston, as he faced
Moe. “He must have gotten into this cab.”
“Nobody in this cab,” assured Moe. With
a shrug, he shifted aside. “Take a look if
you want.”
Weston yanked open the cab door. Look-
ing for Cranston, he did not notice that the
handle of the far door was turning shut. Moe
was right, the cab was empty. That was
because The Shadow, donning cloak and
hat, had made a quick departure to the street.
Staring streetward, Weston saw the lim-
ousine across the way. Triumphantly, he
shouted:
“There’s Cranston’s car! That’s where I’ll
find him!”
Starting across the street, Weston could
not see Moe slip a pair of twenty dollar bills
to the doorman, who nodded his full under-
standing. Weston’s eyes were on Cranston’s
chauffeur, Stanley, who sat at the wheel of
the big limousine.
Weston was coming from the street side.
Stanley’s head was inclined in the opposite
9
The Shadow Unmasks
direction. As Weston arrived a black shape
glided from the curb side of the car. Thrust-
ing his face through the open window of
the front door, Weston shouted at Stanley:
“Where is Cranston?”
“Mr. Cranston?” Stanley gaped. “Why,
he’s in Europe, sir!”
Weston’s anger was intense. He roared at
Stanley, demanding to know why the lim-
ousine was at the club if Cranston happened
to be in Europe. Stanley informed him that
Cranston’s nephew was living at the New
Jersey mansion and had come into town this
evening. Stanley had parked opposite the
club because he could always find space
there.
Weston did not believe the chauffeur.
Enraged, the commissioner yanked open the
rear door of the limousine and stared in-
side. Seeing that the car was empty he
slammed the door and strode across the
street.
Moe’s cab was gone; Weston glared at
the doorman as he went past. Stormily, the
commissioner entered the Cobalt Club.
AROUND the corner, Moe was picking
up a cloaked passenger. The taxi driver nod-
ded as he heard new instructions. The
Shadow’s plans were changed: he could no
longer afford to go to Silsam’s as Cranston.
There was time, however to use an alter-
nate method that could block Shark Meglo’s
coming crime.
That was why The Shadow’s lips deliv-
ered a whispered laugh for the benefit of
Commissioner Weston. The Shadow’s ruse
had been a necessary one. He had met an
emergency with the utmost speed: and in so
doing had kept himself clear to battle crime.
The fact that there were two Cranstons
was something that The Shadow intended
never to reveal.
CHAPTER III
THE SHADOW’S SUBSTITUTE
FIVE MINUTES AFTER The Shadow
had again become a passenger in Moe’s
cab, a young man received a telephone call
in his room at the Hotel Metrolite. The
young man’s name was Harry Vincent; most
of his acquaintances regarded him as a pleas-
ant, keen-mannered chap who had a com-
fortable income and therefore preferred to
live in New York.
In fact, Harry was frequently seen at some
of the bright spots in Manhattan. That sim-
ply served to cover his real activities. Pri-
vately, Harry Vincent was an agent of The
Shadow.
The call that came tonight was from The
Shadow. It was relayed to Harry by
Burbank, the contact agent through whom
The Shadow usually sent emergency instruc-
tions. Burbank’s news was brief. Harry hung
up and looked at his watch.
Twenty-five minutes of nine. Harry could
get to Silsam’s Madison Avenue home in
ten minutes by cab. Without bothering to
change attire, Harry made a prompt depar-
ture from the hotel.
During the ride, Harry smiled at one fact
10
The Shadow Unmasks
he had learned. In service, Harry was the
oldest of all The Shadow’s agents, with the
possible exception of Burbank. Harry had
long connected The Shadow with Lamont
Cranston, and had suspected that the two
were sometimes one. At last, in this emer-
gency, Harry had been informed of the ac-
tual circumstances.
Harry’s smile ended as he reviewed the
circumstances that had produced tonight’s
mission.
The previous year had marked a large
number of jewel robberies in New York.
The police had slipped badly in certain cases;
it was The Shadow who had finally brought
criminals to justice. Meanwhile, wealthy
persons had adopted the practice of keep-
ing silent regarding any gems they owned.
They thought that was why crimes had
lessened. From that belief had come new
crime. A new group of thieves had teamed
murder with robbery. The secretive meth-
ods of jewel owners had made it almost
impossible for The Shadow to learn where
crime was due to strike.
Three deaths in three months, each
coupled with a huge robbery. The police
blamed Shark Meglo. So did The Shadow;
but Shark was slippery. It had taken The
Shadow a long while to trace him. Tonight
was The Shadow’s opportunity to end the
murderer’s evil career.
Police interference would bungle it. Shark
knew how to dodge the law. The Shadow’s
one chance was to stop Shark at the spot
where crime was intended: the home of
Hugo Silsam. Everything had been ready
when The Shadow found it necessary to
abandon his role of Cranston.
That was why Harry was going as The
Shadow’s substitute, to watch events in
Silsam’s home. That did not mean that The
Shadow would be absent. On the contrary,
he would be close at hand to stop the
criminal’s thrust. Harry’s part was to size
the situation and give The Shadow word,
when and where to enter.
GUESTS were coming from Silsam’s
when Harry arrived there; but the dinner
party had not entirely ended. It was quarter
of nine; and Harry saw immediately that the
house had not cleared sufficiently for Shark
Meglo to begin operations.
Harry gave his name to the servant who
admitted him. The man was evidently
Silsam’s butler, for his dryish face showed
an air of authority as he craned his long neck
forward.
“I do not think that Mr. Silsam is expect-
ing you, Mr. Vincent -”
“That’s all right,” assured Harry. “I called
him an hour ago, and told him that I was a
friend of Mr. Cranston. Mr. Silsam said to
be here before nine.”
“You called Mr. Silsam? I thought it was
Mr. Cranston who called.”
Harry laughed indulgently. He told the
butler that Lamont Cranston was in Europe.
As the man’s face began to show enlighten-
ment, Harry added:
“You must have misunderstood me over
the telephone.”
The butler decided that it would be best
to usher the visitor into Silsam. The fellow
摘要：

1TheShadowUnmasksForthefirsttimeinhislongcareerascrimefighterextraordinary,TheShadowthrustsasidehisveilofmystery!Notunderoneofhismanyaliasesbutinhistrueidentity,TheShadowrevealshimself!Here,inhisrarestbattleagainsttheunderworld,isexposedtheunfathomablepastofthatbeingknowntoalltheworldasTheShadow!CHA...

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