〃No？ Then why are you passing up your cut here？〃
〃Because I want to get back with Cyro。 This trip means expenses。 Nothing more。 After that； maybe I'll get something better。 I'm playing for the future； that's all。〃
〃So am I。〃
〃All right。 Maybe I can fix it for you。 Wait until I get with Cyro。 If I work well on this deal he's pulling…whatever it is…I may have a chance to boost you in with the outfit。〃
〃But you say you've never met Cyro。〃
〃I've reported through to him。 I'll do the same again。 I won't forget you； Roke。 Put up that gat。 Let's get set for this fall…guy from Des Moines。〃
〃Get me straight；〃 rasped Roke； with a warning thrust of the gun； 〃I'm
going to New Orleans！ My proposition stays。 No other。〃
〃But you can't force me to it。〃
〃Can't I？ I could drill you and walk out of here without a person knowing it。 That's what I'll do； too； unless you e clean。 Take my terms； and if I find you trying to double…cross me； I'll queer Cyro's game。
〃I know enough about it〃…Roke delivered an ugly laugh…〃enough to put the skids under it。 There's the proposition； Tracy。 Are you taking it？〃
〃I guess so；〃 replied Lence； wearily。 〃Put up the gat； Roke。 What you say goes。 You're in…on your own terms。〃
Roke lowered his gun。 His suave smile returned。 Lence； a bit dejected； came toward his panion。 Roke watched him fumble for his cigarette case。
Lence brought the object from his left coat pocket。 He offered a cigarette to Roke； who shook his head。 Lence helped himself to one。
〃Got a match； Roke？〃 he asked； in a humble tone。 〃I think I used my last one。〃
Roke started to feel in his left coat pocket。 Lence； in a natural fashion； copied the action； putting his right hand to his coat。 Suddenly his hand came snapping into view。
Roke； with a snarl； raised his revolver to fire。 He was too late。
A gun had flashed in Lence's right hand。 Point…blank； Lence loosed a shot at Rowden from a range of three feet。
Roke's rising gun stopped short。 A pained expression came over the man's mustached face。
With gasped groans； Roke Rowden dropped his revolver。 Hunching； he pressed his hands to his breast； then； with a sickly expression； he subsided to the floor。 He lay there moaning； unable to pick up his gun。 The man was mortally wounded。
〃THANKS for the tip； Roke；〃 sneered Lence； lighting his cigarette。 〃I thought you were bluffing with that gat； until you reminded me that the shot would not be heard。 I forgot that the near…by apartments were vacant。
〃I'd like to help you out of misery〃…Lence paused as he picked up the torn pieces of Cyro's letter and the translation that went with them…〃but it would not be artistic。 You might pass for a suicide； the way you're dying。 A second bullet…through your brain…would be a give…away。〃
The glass of water was standing on the desk； beside it lay Lence's handkerchief。 Lence polished the sides of the glass； then tipped it with his elbow。 The glass toppled from the table。 It broke upon the fringe of a rug and its contents trickled along the floor。
〃Maybe they'll think you were going to try poison； Roke；〃 suggested Lence。
〃Maybe they won't。 It doesn't matter； either way。 They won't weep over a con man gone to blighty。 This； however； is most important。〃
Lence was polishing the handle of his revolver。 Stopping by Roke's side； he grasped the dying man's sleeve and tugged a hand into view。 He shoved his own gun into Roke's fist。 Roke's fingers loosened； but one digit caught the trigger guard。 The gun remained。
In case the police inspected the murder bullet； the gun Lence had substituted in Rowden's hand would be proven the one which had fired the shot。
Lence was building up a suicide theory。
A bulge showed in the dying man's coat。 With professional skill； Lence thrust his hand into Roke's inside pocket and produced a bulky wallet。 Opening it； Lence drew forth a wad of bank notes。
He looked at his victim's huddled form and laughed at Roke's paled expression。 The gun was dangling neatly from Roke's fingers； as though the hand had relaxed without pletely losing hold。 Roke's eyes were closed。 His shoulders heaved and sank as he breathed。
〃Twenty…five grand；〃 chuckled Lence； as he counted the money that he had extracted。 〃I'm glad you brought it from the safe…deposit vault； Roke。 It would have been useless there。 You don't need it any longer； Roke。
〃A man doesn't mit suicide while he still has a bank…roll the size of this one。 Let me see： Ten dollars； twenty； thirty…you're a flashy…looking chap； Roke。 You'd carry at least a hundred。 I'll raise the ante。〃
Lence added two twenties and a fifty to the three tens。 He took two fives and a one from his own pocket and added them to make a total of one hundred and thirty…one dollars。 He replaced the small sum in the wallet。
Carefully avoiding the blood that stained Roke's shirt…front； Lence slipped the wallet back into the inside pocket。 Edging the dying man's body along the floor； he uncovered the revolver that Roke had dropped。
Lence picked up Roke's unused gun。 He eyed the victim and observed that Roke was almost motionless。 Slow； moaning gasps came with painful monotony。
Roke gave no other sign of life。
Stepping to the wastebasket； Lence dug out a fistful of torn paper。 He began to examine fragments of envelopes。 The third one was half an envelope that bore a New Orleans postmark。 The next fragment looked like the missing half。 Lence pared them。 The two fitted。
There was no return address on the envelope。 Lence recalled that Roke had not mentioned the book shop until he had opened the letter。 Thrusting the torn pieces into his pocket； the murderous con man started toward the rear of the apartment。
On the way； he stopped and felt the time…tables in his pocket。 He decided to keep them。 With a last look at Roke Rowden's inert body； Tracy Lence delivered an evil chuckle and departed； through a darkened room。
Opening a window； he stepped to a fire escape。 Roke Rowden had purposely chosen an apartment with an available emergency exit。 Closing the window behind him； Tracy Lence； murderer； stole softly downward into the darkness of a courtyard。
CHAPTER III
UNEXPECTED VISITORS
SILENCE persisted in that lower courtyard after the departure of Tracy Lence。 The murderer's stealthy footfalls had been but slight clicks in that gloom。 Stilled atmosphere clung shroudlike in the court during the five minutes that elapsed after the murderer's exit。
Then came motion。 A soft swish disturbed the darkness。 Noiselessly； a figure had glided into the courtyard。 Unseen； a phantom shape was moving toward the fire escape that Tracy Lence had descended。
A new presence had arrived。 Some one…a being in black…was reversing the course that Lence had followed。 A hidden shape arrived at the very window from which Lence had left the apartment。 A soft laugh whispered in the darkness。
That sound； scarcely audible； was a token of identity。 This mysterious prowler； approaching the scene of crime； was a personage to whom such journeys were monplace。 The being from darkness was The Shadow。
To crookdom； The Shadow was a living foe。 Men of evil knew his prowess。
Time and again； plotters of crime had gained evidence of The Shadow's uncanny ability in bringing doom to crime。 A weaving figure cloaked in black； the author of a strident laugh that acpanied the withering staccato of barking automatics…such was The Shadow。
And； as mute testimony of this master fighter's strength； men of evil had found the silent bodies of their pals in crime。 Dying mobsters had coughed his name…The Shadow…in gasping their last breaths。 And always； when The Shadow arrived to deal vengeance upon foes of justice； he came with unexpected stealth。
The little； like the big； could feel The Shadow's wrath。 For his campaign was one of extermination。 The Shadow knew that men of smaller schemes would bee the makers of large plans。 To The Shadow； crime was crime。 That axiom had brought him here tonight。
Somehow； The Shadow had learned of Roke Rowden's scheme。 He knew where the swindler lived。 He had full knowledge of the ti