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“No; but they didn’t look suspicious.”

Cliff grunted.

“They’re suspicious now,” he affirmed. “We both know that Flick’s got to line up some new torpedoes. Soak picked out Scoot; Scoot drew in another gorilla.”

“Let’s head over there, Cliff.”

The two men moved away. A dozen paces on, Hawkeye looked over his shoulder. The little man was suspicious. He always was; but usually with reason. In the old days, when Hawkeye had been at odds with the law, he had been known as the best spotter in the underworld.

Again, Hawkeye peered behind him. He had a lurking impression that he and Cliff were being followed.

Keen, thorough in observation, Hawkeye paused to stare into darkness. Satisfied at last, he moved along to rejoin Cliff.

THEY reached the blind alley that they sought. Sneaking into the depths of the cul-de-sac, Cliff and Hawkeye were tense. They tried doorway after doorway, looking for lurking mobsters, ready to act together if they found one.

No results. They emerged from the entrance of the blind alley.

“Locked doors in those crumbly houses,” commented Cliff, “and where there’s locked doors there’d be a lookout if the place was a hideout.”

“One door wasn’t locked,” commented Hawkeye. “It might be” — he paused — “listen, Cliff!”

A hiss from darkness. The Shadow! Hawkeye stood stock-still. He realized now why he had been suspicious back at the rendezvous. Some one had been there. The Shadow! The mysterious chief had trailed his agents here, despite Hawkeye’s final conviction that they were not being followed.

An order from The Shadow. Cliff and Hawkeye moved toward the wall. The Shadow had heard mention of that unlocked door. He was going to investigate it. The Shadow moved deeper into blackness.

As he neared the door, The Shadow paused. Some one was coming out. A figure stole into the alleyway.

Almost immediately, two others followed. The Shadow waited while they blundered to the street. Swiftly, he rejoined Cliff and Hawkeye.

Off across the street, a stoop-shouldered man was shambling toward the next corner. On the near side, two huskies were keeping pace. The Shadow spoke in a whisper; his words were meant for Hawkeye:

“Hothan. Trail him!”

As Hawkeye moved away, he heard The Shadow speaking again to Cliff:

“Report to Burbank. Instructions as follows—”

Hawkeye heard no more. He was out of earshot; but as he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw Cliff coming from the alley. Cliff, too, had duty to perform. One that meant moves by other agents of The Shadow.

BLACKNESS was moving into the blind alley. Phantom blackness that formed a silent, unseen shape that lived. The Shadow was moving into Hothan’s hideout.

He came to the unlocked door. He entered. He used no light. Feeling his way through darkness, he came to a stairway.

Silently, The Shadow moved upward. At the top, he could hear slight sounds from an opened doorway.

A watcher was in there; another like the two mobsters who had followed along after Hothan. As The Shadow had suspected, Hothan was moving under surveillance.

A closed door. Locked. The Shadow probed it noiselessly. A simple lock, the barrier opened almost immediately. The Shadow entered. Paper crinkled softly as he pressed it in the keyhole. Then his tiny flashlight played close to the floor.

Hothan’s hideout: a dingy room, with few furnishings. A cot with a scraggly mattress. A glimmer showed bits of straw upon the floor.

Stooping, The Shadow examined the edge of the mattress. His fingers found a razor-blade slit. Probing, The Shadow discovered a folded paper. He brought it out.

The flashlight showed a scrawl that ended in a succession of half-finished lines. A soft laugh from The Shadow. The right edge of the narrow sheet was burned. This was the half of the document that old Hildrew Parchell had set on fire the night that he had died.

The Shadow read the incomplete scrawl. It appeared as follows:

I, Hildrew Parchell —

mind, do hereby decla—

put away the great part —

to the value of one mil—

in a place were I am c—

it will be safe.

The wealth has been w—

with the skull which I —

my old trusted friend —

To find the skull g—

home and ask to see th—

Look at them carefully —

note the right one —

With the wealth ar—

that represent my wish—

disposal of it.

Hildre—

Carefully, The Shadow copied this message, leaving dots to represent the unfinished portion of each line.

He pushed the original back into the mattress. Extinguishing his tiny flashlight, he moved to the window.

By the slight light that came from a street lamp on the other side of the building, The Shadow began to fill in the gaps. Three minutes later, his completed message read:

I, Hildrew Parchell, (being of sound)

mind, do hereby decla(re that I have wisely)

put away the great part (of my possessions)

to the value of one mil(lion dollars which is)

in a place where I am c(onvinced fully that)

it will be safe.

The wealth has been w(ell concealed. It is)

with the skull which I (left in the hands of)

my old, trusted friend (……….)

To find the skull, g(o to……….’s)

home and ask to see th(e …… which he has there.)

Look at them carefully (and you will easily)

note the right one.

With the wealth ar(e full instructions)

that represent my wish (as to the ultimate)

disposal of it.

Hildre(w Parchell)

By studying the lengths of lines, The Shadow had inserted words that represented the actual thought of Hildrew Parchell’s message. Twice, a name had been mentioned; both times, it had occurred at the right side of the document and had thus been totally destroyed. Also, another vital word was missing from that right side.

The name could have been Channing Tobold. It could have been Tyson Morth, or Professor Tyson Morth. The missing word could have been “jewelry”; again, it could have been “skulls.” The word “skull” did appear on the unburned portion of the sheet. That was why Hothan had set out in quest of a skull.

The silver skull had been a false trace. So had the mechanical skull that had trapped Hothan. There must be another skull — a third skull — and it would be found somewhere at Selwood Royce’s. For the old friend mentioned in the message could be none other than the young millionaire’s father, Thatcher Royce.

THE SHADOW laughed softly. His mirth died. He closed with gloom by the wall. Some one was unlocking the door of the room.

The Shadow waited while a man entered in the darkness. The arrival moved furtively to the bed, groped by the mattress and fished out the half-burned paper.

It was Hothan. The Shadow waited while the fellow sneaked out through the darkness. Then The Shadow followed, slowly. No sound from the room at the head of the stairs. Hothan’s pretended bodyguards had also gone.

Reaching the blind alley, The Shadow gave a soft whisper. Hawkeye bobbed forward and reported in a low voice to his invisible chief.

“He went to a drug store,” informed Hawkeye. “Made a phone call; I couldn’t spot it on account of the gorillas being around. Then he came back. Out again, with the gorillas tailing.”

“Up to the corner — half a block from here. Looking for a taxi. Moe was on the job. Picked him up, with two of the gorillas. Moe shot me a wad of paper with the tip-off: Pennsylvania Station. I called Burbank.”

A commending hiss from The Shadow. Hawkeye was to join Cliff at the rendezvous, from there to move to a spot that would offer ready contact with Burbank. With that, The Shadow moved out from the alley.