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They had returned, armed, to escort Nick Savoli to his apartment. The shots had hustled them to the private room.

NICK SAVOLI leaped to his feet. Now he was to be master. His henchmen had seen him immediately upon their arrival.

Realizing that he was safe, they hesitated to fire at the strange man in black; until they received the word. They had never seen The Shadow — they were not sure whether he was friend or foe.

“Get him!” cried Savoli.

But before the words had left the man’s lips, The Shadow acted. The position in which he stood had been well chosen. The light switch was at his side.

As Savoli cried out, the man in black seemed to sink to the floor. One long arm shot to the wall, and the black-gloved hand pressed the switch.

The room was in darkness. Automatics exploded as the Homicide Twins shot at the spot where The Shadow had been.

Then came a loud, sinister laugh, from the center of the room. The two gunmen dashed in that direction. They were sure that The Shadow was retreating before them, toward the opposite corner, where he would be trapped. They fired as they went, and Savoli leaped to the switch. The room was flooded with light.

There stood Genara and Anelmo, facing a corner where no one was visible. Steve Cronin was still leaning against the screen. Mike Borrango was in his chair.

The Shadow was gone. In the darkness, his voice had been deceiving. Anelmo and Genara had followed the laugh, but they had been led in the wrong direction. Even now came a distant peal of mirth, from the outside dining room.

The Sicilian killers dashed in pursuit, but to no avail. The Shadow had gained a sufficient margin to escape them.

CHAPTER XVIII

MONK THURMAN RETURNS

THE next morning found Nick Savoli and Mike Borrango in close conference in the big shot’s officelike den. The enforcer had been busy making the first arrangements that would merge the gangs of Chicago; until now he had not had the opportunity to talk with his chief regarding The Shadow. But now, with a temporary lull at hand, the commander of mobsters opened the discussion with his aid.

There was only one course; that was to get The Shadow. The mysterious man in black had been the first person who had ever dared to defy Nick Savoli face to face. That in itself was sufficient cause for a death warrant.

At the same time, both Savoli and Borrango were practical minded. They realized that The Shadow was no common adversary.

“Put him on the spot,” was Savoli’s terse command.

Mike Borrango nodded his agreement; at the same time he raised an important objection.

“Who will do it?” he asked.

“You have the men,” replied Savoli.

“There are four,” said Borrango, “Who are the best of all. Steve Cronin, Machine-gun McGinnis, and the other two — Genara and Anelmo. You saw what happened last night. Three of them failed.

“We have one other man — McGinnis. Yet he was in the car with Cronin that night when The Shadow prevented both of them from putting Clarendon on the spot. So we cannot rely upon McGinnis.

“You are right when you say that I have men. But I do not have the one man we need.”

“Find him, then!”

“Who is he? He must be equal to any one of the four who have failed. He must be better than any of them. More than that, he must have the ability to discover this Shadow — whoever he may be.”

“Cronin has met The Shadow before.”

“Yes; but he has no knowledge of the man’s identity. He has never found The Shadow. It has always been The Shadow who has found him.”

“Cronin appears to be afraid of The Shadow.”

Borrango smiled sourly before he made his reply.

“I was afraid, last night,” he confessed. “You were not afraid, Nick. But I was afraid. Cronin was afraid, too.”

“How about Genara and Anelmo?”

“They do not fear The Shadow. They are ready to find him. But you know the limits of their ability. They kill those who are found for them. We cannot count upon them to find The Shadow.”

Nick Savoli was thoughtful; then he made a suggestion.

“This man Monk,” he said quietly. “He comes from New York. He is better than any of them. Where is he now?”

THE telephone rang before Borrango could offer a reply. The enforcer answered it, and engaged in a terse conversation. Savoli left the room for the time; when he returned, he found Borrango looking gloomily from the window.

“Who was it?” demanded Savoli.

“Larrigan,” replied Borrango. “He reminded me about Monk Thurman. I told him to wait a while. I said that we had not yet located Monk; that after we find him — “

“Larrigan can wait, then!” exclaimed Savoli angrily. “We must find this man Monk. Through him we must find The Shadow. He is valuable to us. Larrigan can wait.”

“Monk will be back,” prophesied Borrango. “He does not know of your promise to Larrigan. He is still on our pay roll — “

He paused to lift the receiver of a telephone that connected with the anteroom. A light had flashed, signifying that a visitor was outside. Borrango uttered an exclamation of surprise when he heard the voice of the attendant.

“Send him in!” he said. Then he turned to Savoli. “It is Monk Thurman now!”

The big shot arose and led the way into the library. There was Monk Thurman, calmly seated in the big chair, quietly awaiting an interview.

His face was as masklike and as expressionless as before. He surveyed Savoli and Borrango without uttering a word. The big shot sat opposite Thurman; the enforcer took his customary place before the bookcase.

“You have done well, Monk,” commended Borrango, in opening the conversation. “We had not expected action so soon. We have been wondering where you have been.”

The gangster seemed indifferent to the words of approval. In fact, he seemed to ignore them entirely. He looked coldly toward Borrango; then turned his attention to Nick Savoli.

“I hear there was a peace meeting last night,” he said.

“There was,” replied the big shot.

“Larrigan is now a friend of yours.”

“He is.”

“How does that affect me?”

“Listen, Monk.” Mike Borrango interjected himself into the discussion. “You can forget about Larrigan. He’s sore because Schultz and Spirak were bumped off; but we expected that. We wanted them out of the way so we could line up Larrigan.

“We’ll fix it so you won’t have to worry about Larrigan. What we want to know about now is where you have been — “

“Where I have been?” Monk Thurman laughed in a rasping tone. “I’ve been worrying about Larrigan, that’s what. I heard that Larrigan squawked to you. So I laid low. Here I am now, and I want to know just where I stand.”

“You stand high, Monk,” said Borrango earnestly. “In fact, we were just talking about you, Nick and I. There’s another job for you to do.”

Borrango reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He counted off a thousand dollars, and handed it to the New York gunman.

Thurman accepted the money without an expression of thanks. As on the previous occasion, he added the bills to his own fat roll.

“What’s my next job?” he asked abruptly.

Borrango looked quizzically at Savoli. The big shot nodded, and the enforcer spoke.

“Did you ever hear of The Shadow?” he questioned.

A look of startled amazement flickered over Monk Thurman’s face. It was the first time that either Savoli or Borrango had seen an emotion registered upon those chiseled features.

In an instant the expression was gone. Monk Thurman did not speak. Instead, he simply nodded.

“What is he?” asked Savoli, in a hard voice.