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Powell had sought to sell the information. He had dealt with a blackmailer in New York, and had made the arrangements for a meeting near Baltimore. There, Powell had been killed — and the slayers had obtained the information without the necessity of paying him ten thousand dollars. Harry Vincent's rescue of Stuart Bruxton had not only been an excellent deed; it had also gained a new secondary agent for The Shadow — a man who could identify Grady, the killer, and the old man whom Grady served. These persons were active workers for a mythical blackmail ring. But who were they? Harry Vincent had visited the burned house the day after he had rescued Stuart Bruxton. On that visit, Harry had drawn a complete blank. The house was a stone-walled ruin; its cellar was a mass of debris. Harry presumed, in his report, that the body of Jefferson, the hitch-hiker, had been placed on the ground floor, to be destroyed amidst the flames; but there was no direct evidence of this. Traces of the murderous pair — Grady and his chief — were totally lacking. The finding of Stuart Bruxton's car had perplexed the local police.

The automobile had been stripped of license plates and luggage; other identifying marks had been obliterated. The theory was that the car had been stolen; that it had crashed through the bridge; and that the men in it had taken refuge in the old house. There, they had started a fire which had gotten beyond control; then they had fled from the flames.

The police were confident that they had solved the case in its entirety. They saw only accidental incendiarism — not murder — and Harry had made no effort to enlighten them. The murder of Grant Chadwick, following so closely upon the killing of Wallace Powell, was highly significant to Rutledge Mann.

With Denby Chadwick completely cleared of suspicion, it seemed quite plausible that Grady was the man who had visited the old house near Chester, where Grant Chadwick lived alone. The connection between Herbert Brockley and Sherwood Mayo was similar to the one between Mayo and Grant Chadwick.

Had Grady come to threaten old Chadwick, putting forward a proposition of blackmail on the strength of what had been learned from Powell's documents?

That was Mann's theory, and he considered it a good one. But even more important was the possibility that the future might hold.

Two evil men, agents of some unknown leader, were embarked upon a career of crime. It was logical to suppose that other lives were threatened. Who would be next?

Mann's eyes rested upon the notes before him. One name, alone, seemed to stare at him.

That was the name of Sherwood Mayo.

That was where the trail led — to Mayo! Four victims had already fallen prey to monsters of crime; Brockley, Jefferson, Powell, and Grant Chadwick. Rutledge Mann foresaw protective measures. Whatever scheme had caused the death of Grant Chadwick, it was reasonable to suppose that the killers had not obtained full measure.

If the old man had refused to meet their demands, it might be that he had passed on a heritage of danger to his nephew. Denby Chadwick had already been suspected of murdering his uncle. Would his life be safe now?

The Shadow's purpose was clear to Rutledge Mann. With Harry Vincent and Stuart Bruxton on the watch, Denby Chadwick would be assured of some security. But there was another man who must be protected — Sherwood Mayo, the multimillionaire.

Foreseeing this, Mann turned to another report. He referred to a list which he had prepared beneath the name of Sherwood Mayo. This list was entirely of Mann's compilation. It had not been difficult for him, with many influential friends, to obtain reliable data concerning such an important person as Sherwood Mayo.

The investment broker realized that this list might prove entirely useless; but he had prepared it with the view of picking out certain individuals who were inimical to Sherwood Mayo. Somewhere in this list, Mann felt sure, would be found the name of a man who might seek to injure Sherwood Mayo. Such a man might bear watching — as one who might possess information which could be used by blackmailers.

Finishing this last list, Mann gathered up all the material intended for The Shadow and folded the papers into a long, official-looking envelope. He tucked the envelope in his pocket and left the office, carefully locking the door behind him.

Broadway was aglow as Rutledge Mann rode down the busy thoroughfare. He discharged the cab at Twenty-Third Street, and sauntered along until he came to a dilapidated building. Even at night, this time-worn structure looked miserable and untidy. The rattly door was unlocked.

Mann entered and ascended a rickety stairs. He was in one of New York's most antiquated office buildings. In a gloomy, ill-lighted hallway, Rutledge Mann stopped before a door. The name on the glass pane was barely distinguishable. It simply read:

B. Jonas

Mann's envelope went through a slit in the door. The investment broker shrugged his shoulders and hurried from the gloomy building.

These visits were distasteful to the fastidious businessman, even in the daytime. At night, they were even more repugnant. The dreary atmosphere of the place was miserable.

Yet the visits were necessary, for that mysterious door with the cobwebbed window was a barrier chosen by The Shadow. Letters thrust into its mail chute invariably reached the mysterious man of the dark.

Rutledge Mann was thinking of The Shadow as he rode in a cab along Twenty-Third Street. But now, with his work done, and his mind relieved from perplexing matters, the investment broker noticed the things about him.

He heard the deep-throated whistle of an ocean liner as his cab sped westward. Some ship was coming into dock.

Then, the taxi turned up an avenue, and Mann, slightly weary, leaned back to rest during the remainder of his ride to the Cobalt Club, his favorite spot during leisure evening hours. The whistle which Rutledge Mann had heard carried a significance which the investment broker did not appreciate. It was like a heralding note, announcing the arrival of someone of importance.

Various celebrities were landing from the S. S. Gallitania. Reporters were busy seeking interviews. The newspapermen, however, paid no attention to a tall man who wore a dark coat and hat. This individual strode solemnly down the gangplank, looking neither to right nor left.

Small news, this, a silent, cold-faced man leaving an ocean liner without companions.

This arrival brushed against a reporter as he stepped from the gangplank. The news gatherer turned to see a hawk-like countenance and a pair of sharp, gleaming eyes.

He was startled for an instant; then turned back to await the arrival of an expected celebrity. What a story that reporter missed! He had seen The Shadow, landing from the Gallitania!

A light clicked in a dark, silent room. Then two white hands appeared beneath it — long, slender hands that seemed like detached creatures of life. Upon the third finger of the left hand gleamed a fire opal, the symbolic jewel of The Shadow!

The hands produced an envelope. They tore open the end. From the packet came the papers which Rutledge Mann had placed in the mail chute of the office marked "B. Jonas." In a twinkling, the papers were spread. Eyes from the dark were examining the data which The Shadow had received from his trusted agent.

Silence reigned while The Shadow, hidden in darkness, perused the compilations. At last, only two papers remained. One was Mann's own statement; the other was the list that accompanied it. A long white forefinger rested upon a paragraph in Mann's statement. The words to which it pointed read as follows:

I feel that in all this accumulated data must be the key to the mysterious deaths which have occurred. More than that, I feel sure that other crimes are planned, and clues to them are here. Because of this, I have paid particular attention to the name of Sherwood Mayo, and have prepared a list of men who might be classed as his enemies. Two of Mayo's friends have been killed. Like Denby Chadwick, he, too, should he watched.